


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


. ’ \ 














V * 


*✓ 





y 


«• 1 : 




'.?A.- n- ■ .fJi; 

■" ' *fS; 


mo;' 




■ f-.* ^ i ‘''i'A 

. \ *» ~ - ‘ .«ID 

.L';;f «8 .; 



^ ^ 'i '] -j 




Tijn 





>-i 




3 S^ 




(* • ' ,--j, {;VV,-i 


. ■' » 

• .r vM • - « 



• ■ y A 



, I 


i^ i*v:' ^ 


. 







^ ft 


U'vS^i;,''W ''STg 

1 ■. -; 


. n 




\' ' 



V U' 













LADDIE 


‘ • -r' -tV:; 


■ .. <, V '^:c ‘'- W'5, ’ 

-I "' ■ , 'VT ■ .'; A, ’ 





'• 

4 ' 








Frontispiece — Laddie . 

“‘MOTHER!’ HE CRIED, ‘MOTHER, IS IT YOU?”’ 





THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Received 

OCT 10 1903 

CopyrigM Entry 
CLAS# OL iXo. No 

4 r Z T" / 

COPY B. 





U c 


BV THE SAME AUTHOR 


Miss Toosey’s Mission 


• • 
••• 


• • • • 


# • 
0 


♦ ^ < c < 
t C 


... 


H^.ry Altemus 


•-« «.e 


• ^ • 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. “ ‘I Know London Pretty Well’ ” 

II. “ ‘A Countrified, Homely Old Body’ ” 

III. “ ‘Laddie, my Boy Laddie!’” 

IV. “ ‘That Was my Mother’” 

V. Love is Stronger Than Death 


PAGE 

. 13 
33 
. 55 
85 
. 109 


(vii) 


v:y 





4 ^ 





r» 


TO 




V * ^ •' 






>V 

f -" ' ■•^' 

MB ' •^..v'V^’^-t.-^ ,iV : < ■^^ ■P 





ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“ ‘Mother!’ he cried; ‘mother, is it you?’” . Frontispiece. • 
“The wee baby was in the old woman’s arms” . . 21 

“ A bunch of Russian violets in a glass on the table ” . 39 . 

“ ‘ Quite a countrified, homely old body, sir’ ” . .49 y 

“ He started up, saying, ‘ Mother ! why, mother ! ’ ” . 57 , 

“She stood for some minutes quite still” . . . 77 . 

“ ‘We will find her, never fear’ ” .... 93 ' 

“ ‘Why, it ain’t never you!’ ” . . . . . 103 

“ ‘Mother, I am Laddie’s sweetheart’ ”... 119 

(ix) 


\ . 






/ 










I 


• > 


t 




t 


I 


’ a ■ 

4 




/ 


I 


< 


. I 

J 



« > 




1 

I 

» 

f 

# 




» 


» 


I 


I 


I 


f 


1 


%• . 


■-i 


• I '• 




t 


fc 


• l' 



Ik. 


' ♦ 





0 


* M 

ft 


>•1 


H 


' « 




I KNOW LONDON PRETTY 
WELL’” 


XI 




■ • I ' *‘A* •* • • ■■' * ■ y A* S*:f ^ : * ,2^M 

'•iS ' - ' 5 

my Af,j ■"■ 




_AitO» A^ ^ •->t ‘ «r 

', - ■ »• , -TT’ ■ - ' 





y 


^ U' 


• • 

, I^A 
i ’4 


‘V ^ 

•"V ,' r- .' ;■■ .■■> -' • 


* V' ft I 

U. • ■, . --•Wl" " • 

Xir. V:^^ 

. ■ - . - ^ ** j 


f •>- 


— S’ 




^■■v> 






* • 


t .X‘ *■<' 




>IL 


■T#; 




* '. ‘A 


a*' 




il« ^ *.. *■ 


V 


- * V 


.M 




n»^ 




t V' 


1 


V 


'ttm 


s?'-n 


lI ^-*‘ 


' - ^ ^ 




^■■^4 






m 


i ^ 


\'V 


♦ *4 


t i' i' i 




' ‘ A .■ r . '*t ■ '' 

S- 4 - «» 




^ .JS 






i 


>4 


















‘',vy*‘. :n,i 

4 ' r-i. T 






4*' 


y. 


'*! •C •* 






A-'-',!- "" 


% ^-4 ■ 

» Ij » - B ^ 




«'• ' 


.4 r 


I 








t i 




►rr*' 




<•' 




m 

K:^\ . •’ 1 

tC^ Vr ^ 4 

Ml i A 

g*V'7 

^7* 




^r*<: 


s*« 




wm-- -P- ^ w 


. Ml> .•t] 

I V ' • 


‘*n 


■ ,• 


I - 




^ItS 


fJi. 


* I’l 




-’ » 4 ' 












T.-s; 








LADDIE 


CHAPTER I 

KNOW LONDON PRETTY WETj/ 

**fT^HIRD-CLASS forward! Here you are, 
I mum. Plenty of room this way ! Now 
then! that ain’t third, that’s first. 
Come, look alive ! All right behind there ? ’ ’ 
Doors bang; a whistle; and the train moves 
oft. 

The guard had thrust into a third-class car- 
riage, already nearly full, a bandbox with a 
blue spotted handkerchief round it, and a bunch 
of Michaelmas daisies, southernwood, and rose- 
mary tucked under the knot at the top; a mar- 
keting basket, one flap of which was raised by a 
rosy-cheeked apple emitting a powerful smell; 
a bundle done up in a handkerchief of the same 

13 


LADDIE 


pattern as that round the bandbox, only bright 
yellow ; a large cotton umbrella of a pale green 
color, with a decided waist to it ; and a pair of 
pattens. 

Anything else ? Oh, yes, of course ! there was 
an old woman who belonged to the things ; but 
she was so small and frightened and over- 
whelmed that she appeared quite a trifle beside 
her belongings, and might easily have been over- 
looked altogether. She remained just where the 
guard had pushed her, standing in the carriage, 
clutching as many of her things as she could 
keep hold of, and being jerked by the motion of 
the train, now against a burly bricklayer, and 
now against his red-faced wife who sat opposite ; 
while her dazzled, blinking eyes followed the 
hedges and banks that whirled past, and her 
breath came with a catch and a gasp every time 
a bridge crossed the line, as if it were a wave 
coming over her. 

Her fellow-travelers watched her, in silence 
at first, having rather resented her entrance, as 
the carriage was already sufficiently full; but 
when a sudden lurch of the train sent her vio- 


14 


LADDIE 


lently forward against a woman, from whom 
she carromed off against the bricklayer, and 
flattened her drawn black-satin bonnet out of all 
shape, the man found his tongue, which was a 
kind one, though slow in moving. 

^^Hold hard, missus!’’ he said; ^^we don’t pay 
nothing extra for sitting down, so maybe you 
could stow some of them traps under the seat, 
and make it kind of more comfortable all round. 
Here, mother, lend a hand with the old lady’s 
things, can’t you? That’s my missus, mum, 
that’s my better ’arf, as the saying is, and no 
chap needn’t wish for a better, though I say it as 
shouldn’t.” 

This remark produced a playful kick, and a 
‘‘Get along with you!” from the red-faced wife, 
which did not show it was taken amiss, but that 
she was pleased with the delicate compliment, 
and she helped to arrange the various baskets 
and bundles with great energy and good nature. 

“Now that’s better, ain’t it? Now you can 
just set yourself down. Lor’ bless the woman! 
whatever is she frightened at ? ” 

For the bustling arrangements were seriously 

15 


LADDIE 


alarming to the old woman, who was not sure 
that a sudden movement might not upset the 
train, or that, if she let go of anything in an un- 
guarded moment, she might not fall out and be 
whirled off like those hurrying blackberry 
bushes or patches of chalk on the embankment ; 
though, indeed, it was only her pattens and 
umbrella that she was clutching as her one pro- 
tection. 

The first thing that roused her from her daze 
of fear was the bricklayer ’s little hoy beginning 
to cry, or, as his mother called it, ^ ‘ to heller, ^ ’ in 
consequence of his mother ^s elbow coming 
sharply in contact with his head; and, at the 
sound, the old woman’s hand let go of the um- 
brella and felt for the marketing basket, and 
drew out one of the powerful, yellow apples, 
and held it towards the sufferer. The ‘‘bel- 
lerin ’ ’ ’ stopped instantaneously at such a re- 
freshing sight, even while the mouth was wide 
open and two tears forcing their way laboriously 
out of the eyes. 

Finding that she could accomplish this gym- 
nastic feat without any dangerous results, the 

i6 


LADDIE 


old woman seemed to gain more confidence, 
seated herself more comfortably, straightened 
her bonnet, smiled at the bricklayer, nodded to 
the little boy, and, by the time the train stopped 
at the next station, felt herself quite a bold and 
experienced traveler. 

‘^This ain’t London, I take it?” she asked, in 
a little, thin, chirrupy voice. 

^ ‘ London ? bless you ! no. If you ’re bound for 
London you’ll have another five hours to go be- 
fore you can get there. ’ ’ 

‘^Oh, yes, I know as it’s a terrible long way 
off, but we seemed coming along at such a pace 
as there wasn’t no knowing.” 

‘‘You ain’t used to traveling, seemings?” 

“Oh! I’ve been about as much as most folks. 
I’ve been to Martel a smartish few times when 
Laddie was there, and once I went to Bristol 
when I was a gal keeping company with my 
master, but that ain’t yesterday, you’ll be 
thinking. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Martel ’s a nice place, I ’ve heard tell ? ’ ’ 

“So it be; but it’s a terrible big place, how- 
ever. ’ ’ 


17 


LADDIE 


You ^11 find London a pretty sight bigger.’’ 

‘‘I know London pretty well, though I haven’t 
never been there; for Laddie, he’s been up there 
nigh about fifteen year, and he ’s told me a deal 
about it. I know as it’s all rubbish what folks 
say about the streets being paved with gold and 
such like, though the young folks do get took 
in; but Laddie, he says to me, ^Mother,’ says 
he, ‘London is paved with hard work like any 
other town ; but, ’ he says, ‘ good honest work is 
worth its weight in gold any day’; so it’s some- 
thing more than a joke after all.” 

The old woman grew garrulous as the train 
rushed along. Laddie was a subject, evidently, 
upon which her tongue could not help being elo- 
quent. 

“An old hen with one chick,” the bricklayer 
whispered to his wife; but they listened good- 
naturedly enough to the stories of the wonder- 
ful baby, who had been larger, fatter, and 
stronger than any baby before or since, who 
had taken notice, begun teething, felt his feet, 
run off, and said “daddy” at an incredibly 
early period. 

i8 


LADDIE 


Mrs. Bricklayer nodded her head and said, 
‘‘Really, now!^’ and “Well, I never inwardly, 
however, reserving her fixed opinion that the 
infant bricklayers had outdone the wonderful 
Laddie in every detail of babyhood. 

Father Bricklayer could not restrain a mighty 
yawn in the middle of a prolonged description 
of how Laddie ^s gums were lanced; but at this 
juncture they reached the station which was the 
destination of the bricklayer and his family, so 
the old woman was not wounded by the discovery 
of their want of thorough interest, and she 
parted from them with great regret, feeling 
that she had lost some quite old friends in them. 
But she soon found another listener, and a more 
satisfactory one, in a young woman, whom she 
had hardly noticed before, as she sat in the op- 
posite corner of the carriage with her head 
bent down, neither speaking nor being spoken 
to. She had a very young baby wrapped in her 
shawl; and as one by one the other passengers 
left the carriage and she was left alone with the 
old woman, the two solitary creatures drew 
together in the chill November twilight; and, 

19 


2 — Laddie. 


LADDIE 


by and by, the wee baby was in the old woman’s 
arms, and the young mother, almost a child her- 
self, was telling her sad little story and hearing 
Laddie ’s story in return. There never had been 
such a son; he had got on so wonderfully at 
school, and had been a favorite with everyone— 
parson and schoolmaster ; ^ ‘ such a headpiece the 
lad had!” 

^^Was Laddie his real nameT’ 

^^Why, no! he was christened John Clement, 
after his father and mine ; but he called himself 
‘Laddie’ before ever he could speak plain, and 
it stuck to him. His father was for making a 
schoolmaster of him, but Laddie he didn’t take 
to that, so we sent him into Martel to the chem- 
ist there, to be a shop boy ; and Mr. Stokes, the 
gentleman as keeps the shop, took to him won- 
derful and spoke of him to one and another, 
saying how sharp he were, and such, till at last 
one of the doctors took him up and taught him 
a lot ; and when he went up to London he offered 
to take Laddie, and said as he’d take all the 
expense, and as he’d make a man of him. He 
come to see me himself, he did, and talked me 


20 



Laddie. 

“THE WEE BABY WAS IN THE OLD WOMAN’S ARMS.’’ 


21 




LADDIE 


over, for I was a bit loth to let him go, for 
’twas the year as the master died; he died just 
at fall and Laddie went at Christmas, and I was 
feeling a bit unked and lonesome. ^ ’ 

‘‘Were that long ago!’^ 

“Yes, ’twere a goodish time. Fifteen year 
come Christmas.’^ 

“But youdl have seen him many a time 
since ? ’ ^ 

“Well, no, I ain’t. Many the time as he’s 
been coming down, but something always come 
between. Once he had fixed the very day and 
all, and then he were called off on business to 
Brighton or somewhere. That were a terrible 
disappointment to the boy; my heart were that 
sore for him as I nearly forgot how much I’d 
been longing for it myself.” 

‘ ‘ But he ’ll have wrote ? ’ ’ 

“Bless you, yes! he’s a terrible one for his 
mother, he is. He’ve not written so much of 
late, maybe ; but then folks is that busy in Lon- 
don they hasn’t the time to do things as we has 
in the country ; but I ’ll warrant he ’ve written to 
me every time he had a spare moment; and so 

23 


LADDIE 


when I sees old Giles the postman come np, and 
I says, ^Anything for me, master T and he says, 
^Nothing for you to-day, mum’ (for I were al- 
ways respected in Sunnybrook from a girl up), 
I think to myself, thinks I, Gt ain’t for the want 
of the will as my Laddie hasn’t wrote.’ 

‘‘And then the presents as he’d send me— bless 
his heart! Bank notes it were at first, till he 
found as I just paid ’em into the bank and left 
’em there ; for what did I want with bank notes? 
And then hesentme parcels of things, silk gownds 
fit for a duchess, and shawls all the colors of the 
rainbow, till I almost began to think he’d for- 
got what sort of an old body I he. Just to think 
of the likes of me in such fine feathers ! And 
there were flannel enough for a big family, and 
blankets ; and then he sent tea and sugar, I don’t 
know how many pounds of it ; hut it were good 
and no mistake, and I’d like a cup of it now for 
you and me, my dear. ’ ’ 

“And have he sent for you now to come and 
live with him?” 

“No, he don’t know nothing about it; and I 
mean to take him all by surprise. Old Master 
24 


LADDIE 


Heath, as my cottage belonged to, died this sum- 
mer; and the man as took his farm wants my 
cottage for his shepherd, and he give me notice 
to quit. I felt it a hit and more, for I’d been 
in that cottage thirty-five year, spring and fall, 
and I knows every crack and cranny about it, 
and I fretted terrible at first ; but at last I says to 
myself, ^ Don’t you go for to fret; go right off 
to Laddie, and he’ll make a home for you and 
glad ’ ; and so I just stored my things away and 
come right off. ’ ’ 

‘^He’ve been doing well in London?” 

^^Well, my Laddie’s a gentleman! He’s a 
regular doctor, and keeps a carriage, and has a 
big house and servants. Mr. Mason, our parish 
doctor, says as he’s one of the first doctors in 
London, and that I may well be proud of him. 
Bless me! how pleased the hoy will he to see his 
old mother ! Maybe I shall see him walking in 
the streets, but if I don ’t I ’ll find his house and 
creep in at the back door so as he sha’n’t see me, 
and tell the gal to say to the doctor (doctor, in- 
deed, my Laddie ! ) as some one wants to see him 
very particular. And then”— The old woman 

25 


LADDIE 


broke down here, lialf-sobbing, balf-langliing, 
with an anticipation too tenderly, ecstatically 
sweet for words. ^‘My dear,’’ she said, as she 
wiped her brimming eyes, ^^I’ve thought of it 
and dreamt of it so long, and to think as I should 
have lived to see it ! ” 

The expectations of her traveling companion 
were far less bright, though she had youth to 
paint the future with bright hopes, and only 
nineteen winters to throw into the picture dark 
shadows of foreboding. She had been well 
brought up, and gone into comfortable service; 
and her life had run on in a quiet, happy course 
till she met with Harry Joyce. 

Folks says all manner of ill against him,” 
said the girl ’s trembling voice ; ^ ‘ but he were al- 
ways good to me. I didn’t know much about 
him, except as he liked me, and I liked him 
dearly; for he come from London at fair-time, 
and he stopped about the place doing odd jobs, 
and he come after me constant. My mistress 
were sore set against him, but I were pretty near 
mad about him ; so we was married without let- 
ting any folks at home know naught about it. 

26 


LADDIE 


^ ‘ Oh, yes ! we was married all right. I Ve got 
my lines, as I could show you as there wasn’t 
no mistake about it; and it were all happy 
enough for a bit, and he got took on as ’ostler 
at the George ; and there wasn ’t a steadier, bet- 
ter-behaved young feller in the place. But, oh, 
dear! it didn’t last long. He came in one day 
and said as how he’d lost his place, and was 
going right off to London to get work there. I 
didn ’t say never a word, hut I got up and begun 
to put our bits of things together; and then he 
says as he’d best go first and find a place for 
me, and I must go home to my mother. I 
thought it would have broke my heart, I did, to 
part with him; but he stuck to it, and I went 
home. 

^‘Our village is nigh upon eight mile from 
Merrifield, and I’d never heard a word from 
mother since I wrote to tell them I was wed. 
When I got home that day, I almost thought as 
they’d have shut the door on me. A story had 
got about as I wasn’t married at all, and had 
brought shame and trouble on my folks ; and my 
coming home like that made people talk all the 
27 


LADDIE 


more, though I showed them my lines and told 
my story truthful. 

‘‘Well, mother took me in, and I bided there 
till my baby was born ; and she and father was 
good to me. Idl not say as they wasn’t; but 
they were always uneasy and suspicious-like 
about Harry; and I got sick of folks looking and 
whispering, as if I ought to be ashamed when I 
had naught to he ashamed of. And I wrote to 
Harry more than once to say as I’d rather come 
to him, if he’d a hole to put me in; and he al- 
ways wrote to bid me bide a bit longer, till baby 
come; and then I just wrote and said I must 
come anyhow, and so set otf! But, oh! I feel 
skeered to think of London, and Harry maybe 
not glad to see me. ’ ’ 

It was dark by this time, and the women peer- 
ing out could often see only the reflection of 
their own faces in the windows or ghostly putfs 
of smoke flitting past. Now and then little 
points of light in the darkness told of homes 
where there were warm hearts and bright 
lights ; and once, up above, a star showed, look- 
ing kindly and home-like to the old woman. 

28 


LADDIE 


‘‘Every bit as if it were that very same star as 
comes out over the elm-tree by the pond, but 
that ain’t likely all this way off.” 

But soon the clouds covered the friendly star, 
and a fine rain fell, splashing the windows with 
tiny drops, and making the lights outside blurred 
and hazy. And then the scattered lights drew 
closer together, and the houses formed into 
rows, and gas lamps marked out perspective 
lines ; and then there were houses bordering the 
line on either side instead of banks and hedges ; 
and then the train stopped, and a damp and 
steaming ticket collector opened the door, let- 
ting in a puff of fog, and demanded the tickets, 
and was irritated to a great pitch of exaspera- 
tion by the fumbling and slowness of the two 
women, who had put their tickets away in some 
place of extra safety and forgotten where that 
place was. And then in another minute the 
train was in Paddington; gas and hurry and 
noise, porters, cabs, and shrieking engines,— a 
nightmare, indeed, to the dazzled country eyes 
and the deafened country ears. 


29 


4 



• .• i 

M 


I 



> 


I 


1 

$ 

• i 

X 

¥‘ 


✓ 





I 




I 


r 


» ¥ 




y • 


¥ 


i 






t 


\ 




* 


f 




.' I 

1 ' 





\ 

«- • 




• « ■ 



I 



•• ^ 

• ■ f ? • 


T 




. • 


1 





/ 




I 

< 

•■? 



» 



/ 

• • 

' » 


« 


^ , 


> 






“‘A COUNTRIFIED, HOMELY OLD 
BODY ’ ” 


31 







CHAPTER II 


‘a countrified, homely old body’ ” 

I N a quiet old-fashioned street near Portman 
Square there is a door with a brass plate 
upon it, bearing the name ^^Dr. Carter.” 
The door is not singular in possessing a brass 
plate, for almost every house in the street dis- 
plays one, being inhabited nearly entirely by 
doctors and musical professors. 

I do not attempt to explain why it is so,— 
whether that part of London is especially un- 
healthy, and so requires constant and varied 
medical advice, or whether there is something 
in the air conducive to harmony ; or whether the 
musical professors attract the doctors, or the 
doctors the professors, I leave to more learned 
heads to discover, only hazarding the suggestion 
that perhaps the highly strung musical nerves 
may be an interesting study to the faculty, or 
that music may have charms to soothe the savage 
33 


LADDIE 


medical breast or drive away the evil spirits of 
the dissecting-room. Anyhow, the fact remains 
that North Crediton Street is the resort of doc- 
tors and musical men, and that on one of the 
doors stands the plate of Dr. Carter. 

It was an old-fashioned, substantially built 
house, built about the beginning of the last cen- 
tury, when people knew how to build solidly, if 
not beautifully. It had good thick walls, to 
which you might whisper a secret without con- 
fiding it to your next-door neighbor, and firm, 
well-laid floors, on which you might dance, if 
you had a mind to, without fear of descending 
suddenly into the basement. There were heavy 
frames to the windows, and small squares of 
glass, and wooden staircases with thick, twisted 
banisters— a house altogether, at which house- 
maids looked with contempt, as something in- 
finitely less ^^genteeP’ than the splendid man- 
sions^’ of lath and plaster, paint and gilding, 
which are run up with such magic speed nowa- 
days. 

We have no need to ring the bell and disturb 
the soft-voiced, deferential man-servant, out of 
34 


LADDIE 


livery, from the enjoyment of his evening paper 
in the pantry, for we can pass uninvited and 
unannounced into Dr. Carter’s consulting-room, 
and take a look at it and him. 

There is nothing remarkable about the room ; 
a book-case full of medical and scientific books ; 
a large writing-table with pigeon holes for 
papers and a stethoscope on the top ; a reading- 
lamp with a green shade, and an india-rubber 
tube to supply it with gas from the burner 
above ; a side-table with more books and papers 
and a small galvanic battery; a large india- 
rubber plant in the window; framed photo- 
graphs of eminent physicians and surgeons over 
the mantelpiece ; a fire burning low in the grate ; 
a thick turkey carpet and heavy leather chairs ; 
and there you have an inventory of the furni- 
ture, to arrange before your mind’s eye if you 
think it worth while. 

There is something remarkable in the man, 
John Clement Carter, M. D., but I cannot give 
you an inventory of him, or make a broker ’s list 
of eyes and forehead, nose and moutb. He is 
not a regularly handsome man, not one that a 

3 — Laddie. ^ C 


LADDIE 


sculptor would model or an artist paint, but bis 
is a face that you never forget if you have once 
seen it ; there is something about him that makes 
people move out of his path involuntarily; and 
strangers ask, ^‘Who is that?’’ Power is 
stamped in his deep-set eyes and the firm lines of 
mouth and chin,— power which gives beauty 
even to an ugly thing, throwing a grandeur and 
dignity round a black, smoky engine, or a huge, 
ponderous steam-hammer. Indeed, power is 
beauty ; for there is no real beauty in weakness, 
physical or mental. 

His eyes had the beauty of many doctors’ 
eyes — kind and patient, from experience of hu- 
man weakness and trouble of all sorts ; keen and 
penetrating, as having looked through the mists 
of pain and disease, searching for hope, aye, and 
finding it, too, sometimes where other men could 
not only find despair ; brave and steady, as hav- 
ing looked through the glorious glass of science 
and seen, more plainly the more he looked, the 
working of the Everlasting Arms; for surely 
when science brings confusion and doubt, it 
proves that the eye of the beholder is dim or dis- 
36 


LADDIE 


torted, or that he is too ignorant to use the glass 
rightly. 

But there is a different look in his eyes to- 
night; pain and trouble and weakness are far 
from his thoughts ; and he is not gazing through 
the glass of science, though he has a Medical 
Revieiv open before him, and a paper-knife in 
his hand to cut the leaves; his eyes have wan- 
dered to a bunch of Eussian violets in a specimen 
glass on the table; and he is looking through 
rose-colored spectacles at a successful past, a 
satisfactory present, and a beautiful future. 

I need not tell my readers that this Dr. John 
Clement Carter was the Somersetshire boy 
whom Dr. Savile had taken by the hand, and 
whose talents had made the ladder which carried 
him up to eminence. The kind old doctor liked 
to tell the story over a glass of port wine to the 
friends round his shining mahogany (he was old- 
fashioned, and thought scorn of claret and din- 
ners a la Russe). 

‘‘I was the making of the man,^’ he would 
say; ^^and I’m as proud of him, by Jove! sir, 
as if he were a son of my own. ’ ’ 

37 


LADDIE 


It is quite as difficult to rise in the world grace- 
fully as to come down ; but every one agreed that 
John Carter managed to do it, and just from this 
reason, that there was no pretence about him. 

He did not intrude his low origin on every 
one, forcing it on people’s attention with that 
fidgety uneasiness which will have people know 
it if they are interested in the subject or not, 
which is only one remove from the unworthy 
pride that tries to hide it away altogether.' 
Neither did he boast of it as something very 
much to his credit ; but to any one who cared to 
know he would say, ^‘My family were poor 
working people in Somersetshire, and I don’t 
even know if I had a grandfather; and I owe 
everything to Dr. Savile.” And he would say 
it with a smile and a quiet manner, as if it were 
nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to he 
proud of, hut just a fact which was hardly of 
interest; and his manner somehow made people 
feel that birth and breeding were after all mere 
insignificant circumstances of life, and of no ac- 
count by the side of talent and success. 

^‘He’s a good fellow, John Carter, and a 
38 



Laddie. 

“A BUNCH OF RUSSIAN VIOLETS IN A GLASS ON THE TABLE.” 


39 



• f 


-r' • 


ilti 




. ' e %v ® 

* ; y I - , ! f ^ 

C^Hpv^vnys^T«|RH|HMjBl| ' 


. 

- •••=;- c: 


W'V'Vil 

ivv' * ^r’f 

Vif ir 




f JaHNWHI'' • ‘ s ^ *2 

BB •• 

iki 

. ■ •• .* wi '-^ ' r.<>iy * . 

Ail * 31 I j ca'*.«*-4 .A. . L.^^B 


■A 


i j \ V 

e ■' V ■.. 


.* ' ! ' 




ftr f, ' y ' ,^(7 


>>«T> T'.r»s A r- 

. rf-' 


^ p9^ ^fiiA'ii^^ t'- '*’ ‘ ‘ 


*?>■ 



lifiJ-,' „/-■ -K^v 

^|^■7 J •' W.*’ ;r> •■ 




r. 


^,h5 




■t *. 








..^r 

• •‘iaraE 


f rr 


»'V 


» t. 


i^k. 


•\ 


i^‘ 


JS 


' « . > 


J* 


Vi 


V 

/ . 4 




■ a. 


^ - 


• I 




i f 




t .Al 


1 *^ 




A'> 


u. 

K tav' '> •^7 v . ' '■» - 

:.,/ 'TlK, ■f»*'Uf>J!2ai':»’ ■ 


f. 


4 r 


Y- 







LADDIE 


clever fellow, too, without any humbug about 
him,^’ the men said; and the women thought 
much the same, though they expressed it ditfer- 
ently. Indeed, the glimpse of his early humble 
country life, simply given, without any pre- 
tence or concealment, grew to be considered an 
effective, picturesque background, which showed 
up to advantage his present success and dignified 
position. It was quite true that there was no 
humbug or concealment about him ; that was the 
very truth he told; and yet, somehow, as time 
went on, the words lost the full meaning they had 
to him at first. Don’t you know, if you use them 
even in our prayers, alas! they are no longer 
the expression of our feeling, hut the words 
come first and the feeling follows or does not 
follow. And then, don’t you know sometimes 
how we hear with other people’s ears, and see 
with other people’s eyes? 

And so John Carter, when he said those sim- 
ple, truthful words, grew to see the picturesque 
background,— the thatched cottage, and the 
honeysuckle-covered porch, and the grand old 
patriarch with white hair, one of nature ’s noble- 

41 


LADDIE 


men, leaning on his staff and blessing his son; 
and he gradually forgot the pigsty close to the 
cottage door, and father in a dirty green smock 
and hob-nailed boots, doing what he called 
‘ ^ mucking it out, ’ ’ and stopping to wipe the heat 
from his brow with a snuffy, red cotton hand- 
kerchief. 

But come back from the pigsty to the violets 
which are scenting the consulting-room, and lur- 
ing Dr. Carter, not unwillingly, from the Medi- 
cal Revieiv to thoughts of the giver. Her name 
is Violet, too, and so are her eyes, though the 
long lashes throw such a shadow that you might 
fancy they were black themselves. It is not 
every one — indeed, it is John Carter alone — 
who is privileged to look straight down into those 
eyes, and see the beauty of their color ; only he, 
poor, foolish fellow, forgets to take advantage 
of his opportunity, and only notices the great 
love for him that shines there and turns his 
brain with happiness. 

His hand trembles as he stretches it to take 
the specimen glass ; and the cool, fragrant flow- 
ers lightly touch his lip as he raises them to 
42 


LADDIE 


his face. Pshaw!’’ I hear you say, reminding 
me of my own words, ‘Hhere is no beauty in 
weakness, and this is weakness indeed!— a sen- 
sible man, past the heyday and folly of youth, 
growing maudlin and sentimental over a bunch 
of violets!” No, reader, it is power— the 
strongest power on earth— the power of love. 

He had been used to say that his profession 
was his lady-love, and he had looked on with 
wondering, incredulous eyes at the follies and 
excesses of young lovers; he was inclined to 
think it was a mild form of mania, and required 
physical treatment. And so he reached five- 
and-thirty unscathed, and slightly contemptuous 
of others less fortunate than himself ; when, one 
day, a girl’s blue eyes, looking shyly at him 
through dark lashes, brought him down once and 
forever from his pedestal of fancied superiority ; 
and before he could collect his arguments, or 
reason himself out of it, he was past cure, hope- 
lessly, helplessly, foolishly in love. 

They had been engaged for two days ; it was 
two days since this clever young doctor, this 
rising, successful man, with such stores of learn- 
43 


LADDIE 


ing, such a solid intellect, such a cool, calm brain, 
had stood blushing and stammering before a girl 
of eighteen. If I were to write down the words 
he said, you would think my hero an idiot pure 
and simple ; the most mawkish and feeble twad- 
dle of the most debased of penny periodicals was 
vastly superior to what Dr. Carter stammered 
out that day. 

But is not this generally the case ? Beautiful, 
poetical love scenes are frequent in plays and 
books, but very rare in real life. There is not 
one love scene in a thousand that would bear 
being taken down in shorthand, printed in plain, 
black type, and read by critical eyes through 
commonplace spectacles. Nevertheless, the 
feelings are no doubt sublime, though the words 
may be ridiculous. He was quite another man 
altogether (happily for him) when he went to 
Sir John Meredith, and told him plainly that 
he was no match for his daughter as far as birth 
went. 

‘<My good fellow,’’ the sensible little baronet 
answered, ^ ‘ there are only about ten families in 
England that can put their pedigree by the side 
44 


LADDIE 


of the Merediths, and it don^t seem to me to 
make much difference, if you rise from the ranks 
yourself, or if your father or grandfather did 
it.^’ 

can scarcely claim even to he a gentle- 
man,’’ the young man went on, feeling pretty 
sure of success by that time. 

^‘Not another word, my dear boy; not another 
word ! I respect your candor, and I esteem you 
very highly as an honest man— the noblest work 
of God, you know, eh?— though I’d like to hear 
any one say that you were not a gentleman as 
well. There, go along ! shake hands ! God bless 
you! You’ll find Violet in the drawing-room. 
Sly little puss! but I saw what was coming— 
and mind you dine with us this evening at 
seven sharp— old-fashioned folk, old-fashioned 
hours. ’ ’ 

I think the wary old baronet also respected 
Dr. Carter’s income, and esteemed very highly 
his success, and having weighed the advantages 
of family and birth against success and income, 
had found that the latter were the more substan- 
tial in the worldly scales. 

45 


LADDIE 


And so Dr. Carter was dreaming rosy dreams 
that evening in his quiet room, as was fit and 
proper after two days’ wandering in fairyland 
with Violet Meredith. But as the scent of the 
violets had led him to think of the giver, so it 
drew his thoughts away from her again back to 
springtime many years ago at Sunnybrook, and 
the bank where the earliest violets grew in the 
sheltered lane leading to the Croft farm. Did 
ever violets smell so sweet as those ? 

He remembered one afternoon, after school, 
going to fetch the milk from the farm, and the 
scent luring him across the little runlet by the 
side of the path, which was swollen into a small, 
brawling brook by the lately thawed snow. He 
set down the can safely before he made the ven- 
ture; and Dr. Carter laughed softly to himself 
to think how short and fat the legs were that 
found the little stream such a mighty stride. He 
was busy diving for the fiowers among the layers 
of dead elm leaves, which the blustering autumn 
winds had blown there, when a sound behind 
him caused him to look round and there was 
the can upset, and the young fox-hound quar- 
46 


LADDIE 


tered at the Croft licking up the white pool from 
the pebbles. In his anger and fear and haste, 
he slipped as he tried to jump back, and went 
full-length into the stream, and scrambled out in 
a sad plight, and went home crying bitterly, with 
a very wet pinafore, and dirty face, and empty 
milk can, with the cause of his mishap, the sweet 
violets, still clasped unconsciously in his little 
scratched hand. 

And his mother— ah! she was always a good 
mother! He could remember still the comfort- 
ing feeling of mother’s apron wiping away dirt 
and tears, and the sound of her voice bidding 
him Never mind ! and hush up like a good little 
Laddie.’’ His heart felt very warm just then 
toward that mother of his ; and he made up his 
mind that, cost what trouble it might, he would 
go down and see her before he was married, if 
it were only for an hour or two, just to make 
sure that she was comfortable and not working 
about and wearing herself out. 

His conscience pricked him a little at the 
thought of what a pleasure the sight of him 
would have been to the old woman, and how year 
47 


LADDIE 


after year had slipped away without his going 
down. But still a comforting voice told him 
that he had been substantially a good son, and it 
was accident and not intention that had kept him 
away. ^‘Anyhow,’’ he said to himself, ‘‘an- 
other month shall not pass without my seeing 
my mother. ’ ’ 

At this moment the deferential man knocked 
at the door and aroused Dr. Carter to the con- 
sciousness of how far his wandering thoughts 
had carried him from his consulting room and 
Medical Review, 

“What is it, HyderT^ 

“Please, sir, there’s some one wishes to see 
you. I told her it was too late, and you was en- 
gaged very particular, but she wouldn’t be put 
off nohow, sir. ’ ’ 

“What is her name?” 

There was a slight smile disturbing the usually 
unruffled serenity of Mr. Hyder’s face, as if he 
had a lingering remembrance of something 
amusing. 

“She didn’t give no name, sir, and she 
wouldn’t say what she wanted, though I asked 
48 


a 





I 





N.«t««*H«rMff»| 


(tiM««H*Mtit(a|) 


V 




I 


'( ■ 


I 


5[zrj 

t 


m~- 



-1 
I r ■• 


George /P*/fe r &ri // 


Laddie. 


“‘QUITE A COUNTRIFIED, HOMELY OLD BODY, SIR.’” 

49 


’’’'' ' ■ . ■'■■ ■ ■- ' ’'' . 



f. 



LADDIE 


if a message wouldn’t do; but she said her busi- 
ness was too particular for that, sir.” 

‘‘What sort of person is she?” 

The corners of the man’s mouth twitched, and 
he had to give a little cough to conceal an in- 
cipient chuckle. 

“Beg your pardon, sir. She appears to be 
from the country, sir. Quite a countrified, 
homely old body, sir.” 

Perhaps the odor of the violets and the coun- 
try memories they had called up made him 
more amiably inclined ; but instead of the sharp, 
decided refusal the servant expected, “Tell her 
it is long past my time for seeing patients, and 
I am busy, and she must call again to-morrow, ’ ’ 
he said. “Well, show her in”; and the man 
withdrew in surprise. 

“Countrified, homely old body.” Somehow 
the description brought back to his mind his 
mother coming down the brick path from the 
door at home, with her Sunday bonnet on, and 
her pattens in her hand, and the heavy-headed 
double stocks and columbines tapping against 
her short petticoats. The doctor smiled to him- 

4— Laddie. ^ I 


LADDIE 


self; and even while he smiled the door was 
pushed open, and before him he saw, with a 
background of the gas-lit hall and the respectful 
Hyder, by this time developed into an incontrol- 
able grin, his mother, in her Sunday bonnet and 
with her pattens in her hand. 


52 


“‘LADDIE, MY BOY LADDIE’ 


53 


• ; i-'i 


vyi 










•■g 


i A:^* . : 

■ ..' .». ■ - 1 ■ - 


3^ 


t.V 




I f 


. *v 


>ll' 


rt 


'> 


•)»n 


1.4 


» *’ 


A 








i] 


'7' 


*/ ! 

■f, )>■--'''■ ' 

4 *1/- ' V 

V 


•; '• 


< 


rfc * ' jA 

..v>'>.'i 


■W ^ 

Sri. 4^ 


% 


!‘^;-'V, 


.,' k'm r . •■•. -s ' 




4*1 


•■’ .M' 

r'-'. ■ 

r^- ' 


1 ^ .' 






„„ 'I'liSlS ..sii 

►/fV 4 

:<; . 




s w>f - ^- - ~ ^ 

4 i.^r»- i rtWMW 


'» ii - V— 'H*' 




X' 






-w 


5 -s »» 


PSWitrfMff: 


Vi 




■*’: ^i[, ■ ^ 

iMfii. ’zt- . 



V.-/ s*Mi- V ■ /< r ■ 


■><■,.. 'A ■ V ■ V^^****^ ; * -•' 


[’i-v 

.d-" . . . • « . 








r\ 


iM^- 

'• . - 


• 1, 


i 


» «- 


' • '•>> 3 


4*4 




iitf ‘•^^, '< 

.’ ' ' rt* .. » 


' b c '"r > 

.- ''rgh . t.» *■• t sawBki 


.V.,, -f/*? • :*?■?. i; 




tr-^ 


•'-V .t 4* .> 




/ /f t. 




. j "'H •' 



asMte^ - - - ..» ^ ' . Ill 

TV"i; ft, • ■ $»‘PaRvl£MB • '?"’ • ■ iiM 

- TJaaSt •x\«l 


CHAPTER III 


^LADDIE, MY BOY LADDIE ’ ’’ 

R eader, think of some lovely picture of 
rustic life, with tender lights and pleas- 
ant shadows, with hard lines softened, 
and sharp angles touched into gentle curves, 
with a background of picturesque, satisfying ap- 
propriateness, with the magic touches that bring 
out the beauty and refinement and elegance of 
the scene, which are really there, and that subtly 
tone down all the roughness and awkwardness 
and coarseness, which are also equally there. 
And then, imagine it, if you can, changing under 
your very eyes, with glaring lights and heavy 
shadows deepening and sharpening and harden- 
ing wrinkles and angles and lines, exaggerating 
defects, bringing coarseness and age and ugli- 
ness into painful prominence, and taking away 
at a sweep the pretty, rural background which 
might have relieved and soothed the eye, and 
55 


LADDIE 


putting a dull, commonplace, incongruous one in 
its place. 

It was something of this sort that happened 
to John Carter that night, when the picture he 
had been painting with the sweet lights of love 
and childhood’s fancies, and the tender shadows 
of memory throwing over it all soft tones of long 
ago and far away, suddenly stood before him in 
unvarnished reality, with all the glamor taken 
away, an every-day fact in his present London 
life. 

I am glad to write it of him that, for the first 
minute, pleasure was the uppermost feeling in 
his mind. First thoughts are often the best and 
purest. He started up, saying, ‘^Mother! why 
mother!” in the same tone of glad surprise as 
he would have done fifteen years before if she 
had come unexpectedly into the shop at Martel ; 
he did not even think if the door were closed, or 
what Mr. Hyder would think; he did not notice 
that she was crumpled and dirty with travel, or 
that she put her pattens down on his open hook 
and upset the glass of violets ; he just took hold 
of her trembling, hard-worked hands, and kissed 
56 



I'V'^'-' ■ ■ "^ ''r™ ' 'r ■. 




y.’« ' ^u--;^''''’ ' ' 

,.\A ’ 


^ VjkSpi# ■. xj 
mBT *‘ I • ' ^ >'w« 


-J 






t.v. 5>, .' lilLW;-:' . 

^'>' '' ■V' aVV:*. :;. -ri'* 


r ■ ■ '<■'* ^ V 


f 




V-v ^ 



'XI If! 



t '1^ /* ^ ‘I ■ 


• \I3 • r * '■ • ' • • ’ '‘ii 
‘ ‘w " , H ■».., '^Bi " 


V*<’r^.,, S,-l_ '■ . 




LADDIE 


her furrowed old cheek, wet with tears of unut- 
terable joy, and repeated, ‘^Mother! why, 
mother ! ’ ’ 

I am glad to write it of him; glad that she 
had that great happiness, realizing the hopes 
and longings of years past, consoling in days to 
come when she had to turn hack to the past for 
comfort, or forward to the time of perfect satis- 
faction. There are these exquisite moments in 
life, let people say what they will of the disap- 
pointments and vanity of the world, when hope 
is realized, desire fulfilled; hut it is just for a 
moment, no more— just a foretaste of the joys 
that shall be hereafter, when every moment of 
the long years of eternity will be still more full 
and perfect, when we shall ^‘wake up^’ and ^‘be 
satisfied. ’ ’ 

She was clinging meanwhile to his arm, sob- 
bing out, ‘^Laddie, my boy. Laddie!^’ with her 
eyes too dim with tears to see his face clearly, 
or to notice how tall and grand and handsome 
her boy was grown, and what a gentleman. 
Presently, when she was seated in the armchair, 
and had got her breath again, and wiped her 
59 


LADDIE 


foolish old eyes, she was able to hunt in her 
capacious pocket for the silver-rimmed spec- 
tacles that had descended from her father, 
old Master Pullen, in the almshouse, and that 
Laddie remembered well, as being kept in the 
old family Bible, and brought out with great 
pomp and ceremony on Sunday evenings. 

‘ ^ I must have a good look at you. Laddie hoy, ’ ^ 
she said. 

And then I think her good angel must have 
spread his soft wing between the mother and 
son (though to her mind it seemed only like 
another tear dimming her sight, with a rainbow 
light on it), to keep her from seeing the look that 
was marring that son’s face. All the pleasure 
was gone, and embarrassment and disquiet had 
taken its place. 

‘^However did you come, mother?” he said, 
trying his best to keep a certain hardness and 
irritation out of his voice. 

come by the train, dear,” the old woman 
answered, ^‘and it did not terrify me more nor 
a bit at first. I’ll not go for to deny; but, bless 
you ! I soon got over it, and them trains is handy 
6o 


LADDIE 


sort of things when you gets used to ’em. I was 
a good deal put to though when we got to Lon- 
don station, there seemed such a many folks, 
about, and they did push and hurry a body so. 
I don’t know whatever I should ’a done if a 
gentleman hadn’t come and asked me where I 
wanted to get to. He were a tallish man with 
whiskers, a bit like Mr. Jones over at Martel, 
and I dare say you knows him ; hut he was ter- 
rible kind, however. ’ ’ 

John Carter did not stop to explain that there 
were many tallish men with whiskers in London. 

‘^Why didn’t you write and say you were com- 
ing?” 

Well, there ! I thought as I’d give you a sur- 
prise; and I knew as you’d be worrying about 
the journey and thinking as I’d not be able to 
manage; but I’m not such a helpless old body, 
after all. Laddie.” 

^‘Whom have you left in charge of the cot- 
tage ? ’ ’ 

‘^Why, I’ve give it up altogether. Farmer 
Harris, he wanted it for his shepherd, and he 
give me notice. That’s why I come all on a 

6i 


LADDIE 


sudden like. I says to myself, says I, Laddie’s 
got a home and a welcome for his old mother, 
and it’s only because he thought as I was pretty 
nearly growed to the old place, and couldn’t 
ahear to leave it, that he ain’t said as I must 
come and keep house for him long ago. But, 
bless you! I’ve been thinking so of the pleasure 
of seeing you again that I’ve pretty nearly for- 
got as I was leaving my master’s grave and all. ’ ’ 

^ ^ And wdien must you go back 1 ’ ’ 

‘^Not till you gets tired of me. Laddie, or till 
you takes me to lay me by the old master ; for 
I’d like to lay there, if so be as you can manage 
it, for I’ve heard tell as it cost a mort of money 
bury in’ folks out of the parish as they dies in, 
and maybe it mightn’t be just conveninent to 
you. ’ ’ 

John Carter busied himself with making the 
fire burn up into a blaze, while his mother ram- 
bled on, telling him little bits of village gossip 
about people he had long since forgotten or 
never heard of ; or describing her journey, 
which was a far greater exploit in the old 
woman’s eyes than Lieutenant Cameron’s walk 
62 


LADDIE 


across Africa ; or dwelling on the delight of see- 
ing him again. 

He paid little heed to what she said, pretend- 
ing to be intent on placing a refractory piece 
of coal in a certain position, or coaxing an un- 
certain little flame into steadiness ; but his head 
was busy trying to form some plan for getting 
himself out of his difficult position. He did not 
want to hurt her, or to be unkind in any way; 
but it was altogether out of the question having 
her there to live with him. It would ruin all his 
prospects in life, his position in his profession 
and in society ; as to his engagement, he did not 
venture to allow himself even to think of Violet 
just then. 

He knew some doctors whose mothers lived 
with them, and kept house for them, received 
their guests, and sat at the head of their table, 
but they were ladies, very different. The very 
idea of his mother with three or four servants 
under her was an absurdity. And this thought 
brought Hyder ^s grin before his mind. What had 
happened when his mother arrived! Had she 
committed herself and him frightfully by her 

63 


LADDIE 


behavior! No doubt that impudent rascal was 
giving a highly facetious account of it all to 
the maids in the kitchen. Chattering magpies ! 
And how they would pass it on! How Mary 
Jane would describe it through the area gate to 
the milk woman next morning, and cook add a 
pointed word or two from the front steps as she 
cleaned them! He could almost smell the wet 
hearthstone and hear the clinking of the tin 
milk pails as Biddy hooked them to the yoke 
and passed on with the story of his degradation. 
And he could fancy what a choice morsel it 
would make for Hyder to tell Sir John Mere- 
dith’s solemn, red-nosed butler, behind his hand, 
in a hoarse whisper, with winks to emphasize 
strong points, and an occasional jerk of the 
thumb over the shoulder and a careful avoidance 
of names. This thought was too much for his 
feelings, and the tongs went down with an omi- 
nous clatter into the fender, making the old 
woman jump nearly off her chair, and cutting 
short a story about the distemper among Squire 
Wellow’s pigs. 

i i TEej.0 . it brought my heart into my mouth, 
64 


LADDIE 


pretty near, and- set me all of a tremble. I 
reckon as I^m a little bit tired, and it have 
shook np my nerves like, and a little do terrify 
one so.^’ 

The sight of her white, trembling old face 
touched his son’s and doctor’s heart under the 
fine, closely woven, well-cut coat of fine gentle- 
manliness and worldy wisdom which he was but- 
toning so closely round him. 

You are quite tired out, mother,” he said; 
^ ‘ you shall have some tea and go to bed. I can ’t 
have you laid up, you know.” 

There now! if I wasn’t thinking as a dish of 
tea would be the nicest thing in the world ! and 
for you to think of it! Ah! you remembers 
what your mother likes, bless you!” 

In that moment he had quickly made up his 
mind that at any rate it was too late for that 
night to do anything but just make her com- 
fortable; to-morrow something must be done 
without delay; but there was ten striking, and 
she was evidently quite worn out. He must say 
something to silence those jays of servants and 
get her off to bed, and then he could sit down 

65 


LADDIE 

and arrange liis plans quietly; for the sudden- 
ness of the emergency had confused and mud- 
dled him. 

^^Idl tell them to get some tea/’ he said, ‘^you 
sit still and rest.” And then he rang the bell 
decidedly and went out into the hall, closing the 
doors behind him. 

He had never felt so self-conscious and un- 
comfortable as when the man-servant came up 
the kitchen stairs and stood as deferentially as 
ever before him. He felt as if he had not got 
entire control of voice, eyes, or hands. His eyes 
seemed to avoid looking at the man’s face in 
spite of him, and his voice tried hard to be 
apologetic and entreating of its own accord. 
That would never do. He thrust his obtrusive 
hands into his pockets, and drew up his head, 
and looked sharply at the man straight in the 
eyes with a ‘‘fight you for 2d/^ expression, or 
“every bit as if I owed him a quarter’s rent,” 
as Hyder said afterwards; and he spoke in a 
commanding, bullying tone, very unlike his 
usual courteous behavior to servants, imagining 
that by this he conveyed to the man’s mind that 
66 


LADDIE 


he was quite at his ease, and that nothing un- 
usual had happened. 

‘^Look here,’’ he said, ‘‘I want tea at once in 
the dining-room, and tell cook to send up some 
cold meat. I suppose it’s too late for cutlets or 
anything like that?” 

‘^Is the lady going to stop the night, sir I” 

The words stung Dr. Carter so, that he would 
have liked to have kicked the man down the 
kitchen stairs, but he luckily restrained himself. 

‘‘Yes, she is. The best bedroom must be got 
ready, and a fire lighted, and everything made 
as comfortable as possible. Do you hear?” 

“Yes, sir.” The man hesitated a second to 
see if there were any further orders, and Dr. 
Carter half turned, looking another way, as he 
added, “She is a very old friend and nurse of 
mine when I was a child, and I want her to be 
made comfortable. She will only be here this 
one night.” 

He felt as he turned the handle of the consult- 
ing-room door that he had really done it rather 
well on the whole, and carried it off with a high 
hand, and not told any falsehood after all, for 

5— Laddie. 57 


LADDIE 


was she not liis oldest friend and his most 
natural nurse! In reality he had never looked 
less like a gentleman, and Hyder saw it, too. 

They say a man is never a hero to his own 
valet. I do not know if this includes men- 
servants in general; but certain it is that, up 
to this time. Dr. Carter had kept the respect of 
his servant. ‘‘I know as he ain’t a swell,” Mr. 
Hyder would say to the coterie of footmen who 
met in the bar of the snug little ‘ ‘ public ’ ’ round 
the corner; ^^but for all that he ain’t a bad 
master, neither; and as far as my experience 
serves, he’s as good a gent as any of them, and 
better any day than them dandy, half-pay cap- 
tings as locks up their wine and cigars, and sells 
their old clothes, and keeps their men on scraps, 
and cusses and swears as if they was made of 
nothing else. ’ ’ 

But as Hyder went to his pantry that night, 
he shook his head with a face of supreme dis- 
gust. That’s what I call nasty!” he said; 
‘H’m disappointed in that man. I thought bet- 
ter of him than this comes to. Well, well ! blood 
tells after all. What’s bred. in the bone will 
68 


LADDIE 


come out in the flesh sooner or later. Nurse, in- 
deed! Get along! you don’t humbug me, my 
gent ! ’ ’ 

There were no signs, however, of these mor- 
alizings in the pantry, or the fuller discussion 
that followed in the kitchen, when he announced 
that supper was ready. 

‘ ‘ Do ye have your victuals in the kitchen, now. 
Laddie?” the old woman said. ^^Well, there! 
it is the most comfortable to my thinking, though 
gentle-folks do live in their best parlors con- 
stant. ’ ’ 

Hyder discreetly drew back, and Dr. Carter 
whispered, with a crimson flush all over his face, 
^^Hush, we’ll have our talk when this fellow is 
out of the way. Don’t say anything till then.” 

The old woman looked much surprised, but at 
last concluded that there was something mys- 
terious against the character of ‘Hhe very civil- 
spoken young man as opened the door, ’ ’ and so 
she kept silence while her son led her into the 
dining-room, where tea was spread, with what 
appeared to the old woman royal magnificence of 
white damask and shining silver. 

69 


LADDIE 


^^You can the doctor said. will ring 
if we want anything. ’ ’ 

^‘He don’t look such a baddish sort of young 
man, ’ ’ she said, when the door closed behind the 
observant Hyder ; ‘ ^ and he seems to mind what 
you says pretty sharp. I thought as he was a 
gent hisself when he opened the door, as he 
hadn’t got red breeches or gaiters or nothing; 
but I suppose you will put him in livery by and 
by?” 

^^Now, mother, you must have some tea. And 
you are not to talk till you have eaten some- 
thing! Here! I’ll pour out the tea.” For the 
glories of the silver teapot were drawing her at- 
tention from its reviving contents. hope 

they have made it good. Ah ! I remember well 
what tea you used to make in that little brown 
teapot at home.” It was very easy and pleas- 
ant to be kind to her, and make much of her now, 
when no one else was there. He enjoyed wait- 
ing on her, and seeing her brighten up and re- 
vive under the combined influence of food and' 
warmth and kindness. He liked to hear her ad- 
mire and wonder at everything, and he laughed 
70 


LADDIE 


naturally and boyishly at her odd little innocent 
remarks. If they two could have been always 
alone together, with no spying eyes and spiteful 
tongues, it would have been all right and pleas- 
ant, but as it was, it was quite impossible, and 
out of the question. 

^^It ain’t the teapot. Laddie, as does it. It’s 
just to let it stand till it’s drawed through and 
no longer. Put it on the hob for ten minutes, 
say I, but that’s enough. I don’t like stewed 
tea, and moreover it ain’t wholesome, neither. 
This is a fine room. Laddie, and no mistake. 
Why, the parson ain’t got one to hold a candle 
to it. I’d just like some of the Sunnybrook folk 
to have a look at it. It would make them open 
their eyes wide, I warrant!— to see me a-settin’ 
here like a lady, with this here carpet as soft as 
anything, and them curtains, and pictures, and 
all ! I wonder whatever they would say if they 
could see! I suppose now, as there’s a washus 
or a place out behind somewheres for them 
servants ! ’ ’ 

Dr. Carter laughed at the idea of Mrs. Treas- 
ure, the cook, and the two smart housemaids, let 

71 


LADDIE 


alone Mr. Hyder, being consigned to a wash- 
house at the back; and he explained the base- 
ment arrangements. 

^^Underground. Well! I never did! But I 
think IVe heard tell of underground kitchens 
before, but I never would believe it. It must be 
terrible dark for the poor things, and damp 
moreover; and how poor, silly gals is always 
worriting to get places in London, passes me ! ’ ’ 

Presently, when they had done tea, and gone 
back into the consulting-room, when the old 
woman was seated in the arm-chair, with her 
feet on the fender, and her gown turned up over 
her knees. Dr. Carter drew his chair up near 
hers, and prepared for his difficult task. 

Mother, he said, laying one of his hands 
caressingly on her arm (he was proud of his 
hands— it was one of his weaknesses that they 
were gentleman’s hands, white and well shaped, 
and there was a plain gold strap-ring on the lit- 
tle finger, which hit exactly the right medium 
between severity and display, as a gentleman’s 
ring should)— ‘‘Mother, I wish you had written 
to tell me you were coming.” 

72 


LADDIE 


She took his hands between both her own, hard 
and horny, with the veins standing np like cords 
on the backs, rongh and misshapen with years of 
hard work, but with a world of tender mother’s 
love in every touch, that made his words stick 
in his throat and nearly choke him. 

knew as you’d be pleased to see me. Lad- 
die, come when I might or how I might.” 

‘ ‘ Of course I ’m glad to see you, mother, very 
glad; and I was thinking just before you came 
in that I would run down to Sunnybrook to see 
you just before Christmas.” 

And then he went on to explain how different 
London life was to that at Sunnybrook, and how 
she would never get used to it or feel happy 
there, talking quickly and wrapping up his 
meanings in so many words and elaborations 
that at the end of half an hour the old woman 
had no more idea of what he meant than she had 
at the beginning, and was fairly mystified. She 
had a strange way, too, of upsetting all his 
skillful arguments with a simple word or 
two. 

^‘Different from Sunnybrook? Yes, sure; 

73 


LADDIE 


but she’d get used to it like other folks. Not 
happy? Why she’d be happy anywheres with 
her Laddie. There, don’t you fret yourself 
about me; as long as you’re comfortable I don’t 
mind nothing.” 

How could he make her understand and see the 
gulf that lay between them— her life and his? 
It needed much plainer speaking ; a spade must 
be called a spade ; and, somehow, it looked a very 
much more ugly spade when it was so called. 
How soon did she catch his meaning? He hard- 
ly knew, for he could not bear to look into her 
face, and see the smile fade from her lips and 
the brightness from her eyes. He only felt her 
hand suddenly clasp his more tightly, as if he 
had tried to draw it away from her; and she 
grew silent, while he talked on quickly and nerv- 
ously, telling her they would go together to- 
morrow and find a little snug cottage not far 
from London, with everything pretty and com- 
fortable that heart could wish for, and a little 
maid to do the work, so that she need never lay 
her hand to anything; and how he would come 
to see her often, very often, perhaps once a 
74 


LADDIE 


week. Still never a word for or against, of 
pleasure or of pain, till lie said— 

You would like it, mother, wouldn’t you?” 
And then she answered slowly and faintly : 
aweary. Laddie, too tired like for new 
plans; and maybe, dearie, too old.” 

^^You must go to bed,” he said, with a burst 
of overwhelming compunction. ‘‘I ought not 
to have let you stop up like this. I should have 
kept what I had to say till to-morrow when you 
were rested. Come, think no more of it to- 
night, everything will look brighter to-morrow. 
I ’ll show you your bed-room. ’ ’ 

And so he took her upstairs, such a lot of 
stairs to the old country legs; but her curiosity 
overcame her fatigue sufficiently to make her 
peep into the double drawing-room where the 
gas lamp in the street threw weird lights and 
shadows on the ceiling, and touched unex- 
pectedly on parts of mirrors or gilded cornices, 
giving a mysterious effect to the groups of furni- 
ture and the chandelier hanging in its holland 
covering. 

’Tis mighty fine,” she said, ^‘but an 
75 


LADDIE 


unked place to my mind; like a churchyard 
somat. ’ ^ 

Her bedroom did not look unked/ ^ however, 
with a bright fire burning, and the inviting 
chintz-curtained bed and the crisp muslin-cov- 
ered toilet-table, with two candles lighted. In 
the large looking-glass on the toilet-table, the 
figure of the little old woman was reflected 
among the elegant comfort of the room, looking 
all the more small and shabby and old, and out 
of place in contrast with her surroundings. 

^‘Now make haste to bed, there’s a good old 
mother ; my room is next to this if you want any- 
thing, and I shall soon come up to bed. I hope 
you ’ll be very comfortable. Good-night. ’ ’ 

And then he left her with a kiss ; and she stood 
for some minutes quite still, looking at the 
scene reflected in the glass before her, peering 
curiously and attentively at it. 

^^And so Laddie is ashamed of his old 
mother, ’ ’ she said, softly, with a little sigh ; ^ ‘ and 
it ain’t no wonder!” 

As Dr. Carter sat down again in his consult- 
ing-room by himself, he told himself that he had 
76 



Ceo^^e 


Laddie. 


“SHE STOOD FOR SOME MINUTES QUITE STILL. 


77 




n.: 


.t-' ' 


.-T S 


' ,'i' . ■ - Xi< r*b 

Sfc i'' 'i-- 'tort. > 

M <.. '• r^' ‘ '‘iT ' ' ■ 












^*^ .\: *' ■* ■. 

w * / 







^7 7'1 



^ -I ■ 'S 


I t 




• f' 





.^' ^; * 1 ^ 



y 


» ' 







ei':^. ^ 


t* l"ii 


^*v-y-v/ 


I v 


.''•;iu’vy n 



■yT'O 

' : 







LADDIE 


done wisely, though he had felt and inflicted 
pain, and still felt very sore and ruffled. But it 
was wisest, and practically kindest and best for 
her in the end, more surely for her happiness 
and comfort; so there was no need to regret it, 
or for that tiresome little feeling in one corner 
of his heart that seemed almost like remorse. 

This is no story-book world of chivalry, ro- 
mance, and poetry ; and to get on in it you must 
just lay aside sentimental fancies and act by the 
light of reason and common sense. And then he 
settled down to arrange the details of to-mor- 
row’s plans, and jotted down on a piece of paper 
a few memoranda of suitable places, times of 
trains, etc., and resolved that he would spare no 
pains or expense in making her thoroughly com- 
fortable. He even wrote a note or two to put 
off some appointments, and felt quite gratified 
with the idea that he was sacrificing something 
on his mother ’s account. 

The clock struck two as he rose to go up to 
bed; and he went up feeling much more com- 
posed and satisfied with himself, having pretty 
successfully argued and reasoned down his 
79 


LADDIE 


troublesome, morbid misgivings. He listened at 
bis mother ^s door, but all was quiet; and be 
made baste into bed himself, feeling be had gone 
through a good deal that day. 

He was just turning over to sleep when his 
door opened softly, and his mother came in- 
such a queer, funny, old figure, with a shawl 
wrapped around her and a very large nightcap 
on— one of the old-fashioned sort, with very 
broad, flapping frills. She had a candle in her 
hand, and set it down on the table by his bed. 
He jumped up as she came in. 

^^Why, mother, whaDs the matter? Not in 
bed? Are you ill?” 

u There, there! lie down; there ain’t nothing 
wrong. But I Ve been listening for ye this long 
time. ’Tis fifteen years and more since I 
tucked you up in bed, and you used to say as you 
never slept so sweet when I didn’t do it.” 

She made him lie down, and smoothed his pil- 
low, and brushed his hair off his forehead, and 
tucked the clothes round him, and kissed him as 
she spoke. 

‘‘And I thought as I’d like to do it for 
8o 


LADDIE 


you once more. Good-night, Laddie, good- 
night. ’ ^ 

And then she went away quickly, and did not 
hear him call, ‘ ^ Mother ! 0 mother ! ’ ’ after her ; 
for the carefully tucked-in clothes were flung 
otf, and Laddie was out of bed with his hand on 
the handle of the door, and then— second 
thoughts being cooler, if not better— She had 
better sleep, ’ ’ Dr. Carter said, and got back into 
bed. 

But sleep did not come at his call. He tossed 
about feverishly and restlessly, with his mind 
tossing hither and thither as much as his body, 
the strong wind of his pride and will blowing 
against the running tide of his love and con- 
science, and making a rough sea between them, 
which would not allow of any repose. And 
which of them was the strongest? After long 
and fierce debate with himself, he came to a con- 
clusion which at all events brought peace along 
with it. ^^Come what may,’^ he said, will 
keep my mother with me, let people say or think 
what they will— even if it costs me Violet her- 
self, as most likely it will. I can’t turn my 

8i 


LADDIE 


mother out in her old age, so there’s an end of 
it. ’ ’ And there and then he went to sleep. 

It must have been soon after this that he woke 
with a start, with a sound in his ears like the 
shutting of the street-dopr. It was still quite 
dark— night to Londoners, morning to country 
people, who were already going to their work 
and labor; and Dr. Carter turned himself over 
and went to sleep again, saying, ‘ ^ It was my 
fancy or a dream”; while his old mother stood 
shivering in the cold November morning outside 
his door, murmuring : 

‘‘I’ll never be a shame to my boy, my Laddie ; 
God bless him ! ’ ’ 


82 


‘“THAT WAS MY MY MOTHER’” 


G— Laddie. 


83 




N 









V '»> f 




V . -V- 


?^?5 




‘A 


m 


■IV 


'.yT.-«v 


>w>.r> 




i: 






f, 


y.\ 




im 








.f 




•., v *%'■ '■■' ^'; 

• • ■♦ 


1 ■ ' rv 

t fV’f 

'; C ir '••'■ - V . ' ' 

J ■ • . 1 ^ w I * 


5 




i' 


,• 




T; 


rt'-I 


^vr,i . 


V«- f. 




, V .11 




r. 






Sh- 


i t 




-/ 






•-yf% 








■ . • ‘"•■- 'f' 

^ r 


4 * 


• t 


". JL . •» 




•V 


/.'a- 




■ j 




V ■ 


T- • 


jc*> . 


S: ‘-’ 


> t 


'...' '^• 


'Jtt 




"if 


•: 




'.S‘J 






V«: 


‘w'A 






1 » 


t 


*^ *.« •' W 

‘ •* ' j* ft/ 

' iif 


>-/ 


'M# 




. « /*^ • 
• lX-»\ 


'V 


' ^ i 


' ►laf " 

l^' 


-i-J! 


r?A. 


- J- ; 


■ ff 


V ^ -‘^ 


- w -J*,. 






7 ar: 




l±3. 


J- 


•■ft*' 


*v 






*i<. 


-All 






• I 


^ }. 


h 






‘. . 4 i 
V ^ ,V: rl 


TVf . 


m 

■f- 






■^v 


IT ^L I 


:»« 


*!» .*- 


»♦ •> 


•-.f" 








m 


L>« 






*0^3 


«4, 






^.vir 


aiV 


U 










f- •< 


4 -, 










Al? 




/> 


%L 


Vi* 

i5r. 


Vf’ 


•f* 


>?d 




, f 


Wm, 








CHAPTER IV 


^THAT WAS MY MOTHER ’ 

W HEN Dr Carter opened his door next 
morning, he found his mother’s room 
empty, and it seemed almost as if the 
events of the night before had been a bad dream ; 
only the basket of apples, and the bandbox, still 
tied up in the spotted handkerchief, confirmed 
his recollections; and when he went down, the 
pattens, still on his writing-table, added their 
testimony. But where was his mother? All 
the servants could tell him was that they had 
found her bedroom door open when they came 
down in the morning, and the front door un- 
barred and unbolted, and that was all. 

‘ ‘ She has gone back to Sunnybrook, ’ ’ he said 
to himself, with a very sore heart. ^^She saw 
what a miserable, base-hearted cur of a son she 
had, who grudged a welcome and a shelter to her 
who would have given her right hand to keep 

85 


LADDIE 


my little finger from aching. God forgive me 
for wounding the brave old heart ! I will go and 
bring her back. She will be ready to forgive me 
nearly before I speak. 

He looked at the train paper, and found there 
was an early, slow train by which his mother 
must have gone, and an express that would start 
in about an hour, and reach Martel only a quar- 
ter of an hour after the slower one. This just 
gave him time to make arrangements for his en- 
gagements, and write a line to Violet, saying he 
was unexpectedly called away from London, but 
that he would come to her immediately on his 
return, for he had much to tell and explain. The 
cab was at the door to take him to the station, 
and everything was ready, and he was giving 
his last directions to Mr. Hyder. 

shall be back to-morrow, Hyder, without 
fail, and I shall bring my mother with me. ^ ’ He 
brought out the word even now with an effort, 
and hated himself for the flush that came up into 
his face; but he went on firmly, ‘‘That was my 
mother who was here last night, and no man ever 
had a better. 


86 


LADDIE 


I don ’t know how it happened, but everything 
seemed topsy-turvey that morning; for all at 
once Dr. Carter found himself shaking hands 
with Hyder before he knew what he was about ; 
and the deferential, polite Hyder, whose respect 
had always been slightly tinged with contempt, 
was saying, with tears in his eyes, ‘ ^ Indeed, sir, 
I see that all along; and I don^t think none the 
worse of you, but a deal the better, for saying 
it out like a man ; and me and cook and the gals 
will do our best to make the old lady comfort- 
able, that we will!’^ 

Dr. Carter felt a strange, dream-like feeling 
as he got into the cab. Every one and every- 
thing seemed changed, and he could not make it 
out; even Hyder seemed something more than 
an excellent servant. It was quite a relief to his 
mind, on his return next day, to find Hyder the 
same imperturbable person as before, and the 
little episode of hand-shaking and expressed 
sympathy not become a confirmed habit. 

It was a trifling relief even in the midst of his 
anxiety and disappointment ; for he did not find 
his mother at Sunnybrook, nor did she arrive by 

87 


LADDIE 


either of the trains that followed the one he came 
by, thongh he waited the arrival of several at 
Martel. So he came back to London, feeling 
that he had gone on the wrong tack, but com- 
forting himself with the thought that he would 
soon be able to trace her out wherever she had 
gone. But it was not so easy as he expected; 
the most artful and experienced criminal, escap- 
ing from justice, could not have gone to work 
more skillfully than the old woman did quite un- 
consciously. All his inquiries were fruitless; 
she had not been seen or noticed at Paddington, 
none of the houses or shops about had been open 
or astir at that early morning hour. Once he 
thought he had a clew, but it came to nothing; 
and, tired and dispirited, he was obliged, very 
unwillingly, to put the matter into the hands of 
the police, who undertook with great confidence 
to find the old woman before another day was 
past. 

It was with a very haggard, anxious face that 
he came into the pretty drawing-room in Harley 
Street, where Violet sprang up from her low 
chair by the fire to meet him. 

88 


LADDIE 


How pretty she was ! how sweet ! how elegant 
and graceful every movement and look, every 
detail of her dress! His eyes took in every 
beauty lovingly, as one who looks his last on 
something dearer than life, and then lost all 
consciousness of any other beauty, in the sur- 
passing beauty of the love for him in her eyes. 
She stretched out both her soft hands to him, 
with the ring he had given her the only orna- 
ment on them and said, ^ ‘ Tell me about it. ’ ’ 

Do not you know some voices that have a 
caress in every word and a comfort in every 
tone? Violet Meredith’s was such a voice. 

^ ^ I have come for that, ’ ’ he said ; and he would 
not trust himself to take those hands in his, or to 
look any longer into her face; but he went to 
the fire and looked into the red caves among the 
glowing coals. have come to tell you about 
my mother. I have deceived you shamefully.” 

And then he told her of his mother, describing 
her as plainly and carefully as he could, trying 
to set aside everything fanciful and picturesque 
and yet do justice to the kind, simple, old heart, 
trying to make Violet see the great difference 
89 


LADDIE 


between the old countrywoman and herself. 
And then he told of her having come to him, 
to end her days under her son’s roof. 
could not ask you to live with her,” he ended, 
sadly. 

She had clasped her hands round his arm 
shyly, for it was only a few days since she had 
had to hide away her love, like a stolen treas- 
ure, out of sight. 

‘‘It is too late to think of that,” she said, with 
a little coaxing laugh; “too late, for you asked 
me to be your wife a week ago. Yes, John,”— 
the name came still with a little hesitation,— “a 
whole week ago, and I will not let you off. And 
then I have no mother of my own ; she died be- 
fore I can remember; and it will be so nice to 
have one, for she will like me for your sake, 
won ’t she ? And what does it matter what she is 
like, you silly old John?— she is your mother, 
and that is quite enough for me. And don’t you 
think I love you more ridiculously than ever 
because you are so good and noble and true to 
your old mother, and not ashamed of her because 
she is not just exactly like other people?” and 
90 


LADDIE 


she laid her soft cheek against his sleeve, by 
her clasped hands, as she spoke. 

But he drew away with almost a shudder. 
‘‘Love me less, then, Violet; hate me, for I was 
ashamed of her; I was base and cowardly and 
untrue, and I wanted to get her out of the way 
so that no one should know, not even you, and I 
hurt and wounded her— her who would have 
done anything for her ‘Laddie,’ as she calls me— 
and she went away disappointed and sad and 
sorry, and I cannot find her. ’ ’ 

He had sunk down into Violet’s low chair and 
covered up his face with his hands, and through 
the fingers forced their way the hot, burning 
tears, while he told of his ineffectual etforts to 
find her, and his shame and regret. 

She stood listening, too pitiful and sorry for 
words, longing to comfort him; and at last she 
knelt down and pulled his hands gently away 
from his face, and whispered very softly, as if 
he might not like to hear her use his mother’s 
name, “We will find her, never fear; your 
mother and mine. Laddie.” And so she com- 
forted him. 

91 


LADDIE 


What an awful place London is. I do not 
mean awful in the sense in which the word is 
used by fashionable young ladies, or schoolboys, 
by whom it is applied indiscriminately to a 
^^lark’’ or a ^^bore,’^ into which two classes 
most events in life may, according to them, be 
divided, and considered equally descriptive of 
sudden death or a new bonnet. I use it in its 
real meaning, full of awe, inspiring fear and 
reverence, as Jacob said, ‘‘How dreadful is this 
place,’’— this great London, with its millions of 
souls, with its strange contrasts of riches and 
poverty, business and pleasure, learning and 
ignorance, and the sin everywhere. Awful in- 
deed! and the thought would be overwhelming 
in its awfulness if we could not say also as 
Jacob did, “Surely the Lord is in this place, 
and I knew it not”; if we did not know that 
there is the ladder set up, reaching to heaven, 
and the angels of God ever ascending and de- 
cending; if we did not believe that the Lord 
stands above it. 

It seemed a very terrible place to the old 
countrywoman as she wandered about its streets 
92 


t 



G*or(i9 Ptiftt Sri It. 

Laddie. 

I j* 


“ ‘ WE WILL FIND HER, NEVER FEAR. 

93 


f 


r 



\ 




I 

y 

t 


I 



4 


t 


« 


k 








I 


s 




4 


f 


t 


t 


\ 


» 


I 



LADDIE 


and squares, its parks and alleys, that November 
day, too dazed and stupefied to form any plan 
for herself, only longing to get out of sight, 
that she might not shame her boy. She felt 
no bitterness against him ; for it was not natural 
when he was a gentleman, and she a poor, homely 
old body. 

In the early morning, when the streets were 
empty except for policemen or late revelers 
hurrying home, or market carts coming in from 
the country, with frosty moisture on the heaps 
of cabbages, she got on pretty well. She had a 
cup of coffee at an early coffee stall, and no 
one took any notice of her; some of those that 
passed were country people, too; and at that 
early hour people are used to see odd, out-of- 
the-way figures, that would be stared at in the 
height of noon. But as the day went on the 
streets filled with hurrying people, and the shops 
opened, and omnibuses and cabs began to run, 
and she got into more bustling, noisy thorough- 
fares, and was hustled and pushed about and 
looked at, the terrors of the situation came 
heavily upon her. 


95 


LADDIE 


She tried to encourage herself with the 
thought that before long she should get out of 
London and reach the country, little knowing, 
poor old soul, how many miles of streets and 
houses and pavements lay between her and the 
nearest pretence to real country. And then, 
too, in that maze of streets where one seemed 
exactly like another, her course was of a most 
devious character, often describing a circle and 
bringing her back through the same streets with- 
out the old woman knowing that she was re- 
tracing her steps ; sometimes a difficult crossing, 
with an apparently endless succession of omni- 
buses and carts, turned her from her way; 
sometimes a quieter looking street, with the 
trees of a square showing at the end, enticed 
her aside. 

Once she actually went up North C rediton 
street, unconsciously and unnoticed. 

She reached one of the parks at last, and sat 
down very thankfully on a seat, though it was 
clammy and damp, and the fog was lurking 
under the gaunt, black trees, and hanging over 
the thin, coarse grass, which was being nibbled 
96 


LADDIE 


by dirty, desolate sheep, who looked to the old 
woman ^s eyes like some new kind of London 
animal, not to be recognized as belonging to the 
same species as the soft, fleecy white flocks on 
the hillsides and meadows of Sunnybrook. She 
sat her a long time, resting, dozing, and trying 
to think. 

‘‘I don’t want to trouble no one, or shame no 
one, I only want just to get out of the way.” 
She was faint and tired, and she thought per- 
haps she might be going to die. ‘‘It’s a bit 
unked to die all alone, and I’d liefer have died 
in my bed comfortable like; but there! it don’t 
much matter, it’ll soon be all over and an end 
to it all.” But, no, that would not do either; 
and the old woman roused herself and shook off 
the faintness. “Whatever would folks say if 
Laddie’s mother was found dead like any tramp 
in the road I He’d die of shame, pretty near, 
to hear it in every one’s mouth.” 

Poor old soul ! she little knew how people can 
starve, and break their hearts, and die for want 
of food or love in London, and no one be the 
wiser or the sadder. It was just then she found 
97 


LADDIE 


out that her pocket had been picked, or rather 
that her purse was gone; for she did not wonder 
where or how it went, and, indeed, she did not 
feel the loss very acutely, though, at home in 
the old days, she had turned the house upside 
down and hunted high and low and spared no 
pains to find a missing halfpenny. It did not 
contain all her money, for with good, old- 
fashioned caution, she had some notes sewed 
up in her stays; but still it was a serious loss, 
and one she would have made a great moan 
over in old times. 

She did not know that the sight of her worn 
old netted purse, with the rusty steel rings, 
had touched a soft spot in a heart that for years 
had seemed too dry and hard for any feeling. 
It had lain in the hand of an expert London 
pickpocket; it was mere child’s play taking it; 
it did not require any skill. There was a bit 
of lavender stuck into the rings, and he smelt 
and looked at it, and then the old woman turned 
and looked at him with her country eyes; and 
then all at once, almost in spite of himself, he 
held out the purse to her. Don’t you see as 
98 


LADDIE 


you Ve dropped your purser^ he said in a surly, 
angry tone, and finished with an oath that made 
the old woman tremble and turn pale; and he 
flung away, setting his teeth, and calling himseit 
a fool. 

That man was not all bad— who is?— and his 
poor act of restitution is surely put to his credit 
in the ledger of life, and will stand there when 
the books shall be opened. The old woman got 
little good from it, however, for the purse was 
soon taken by a less scrupulous thief. 

How cold it was! The old woman shivered 
and drew her damp shawl round her, and 
longed, oh, how bitterly! for the old fireside, 
and the settle, worn and polished by genera- 
tions of shoulders; for the arm-chair with its 
patchwork cushions; longed, ah, how wearily! 
for the grave by the churchyard wall, where 
the master rests free of all his troubles, and 
where ‘there’s plenty of room for I’^; and 
longed, too, quite as simply and pathetically, 
for a cup of tea out of the cracked brown teapot. 

But why should I dwell on the feelings of a 
foolish, insignificant old woman? There are 

7 — Laddie. 99 


LofC. 


LADDIE 


hundreds and thousands about us whose lives 
are more interesting, whose thoughts are more 
worth recording. ^^Are not two sparrows sold 
for a farthing r’ and yet, ^^doth not God take 
thought for sparrows!^’ Then surely, so may 
we. Does He indeed despise not the desires of 
such as be sorrowful,— even though the sorrow- 
ful one be only an old country woman, and her 
desire a cup of tea? Then why should we call 
that common and uninteresting which He piti- 
fully beholds? And we shall find no life that is 
not full of interest, tender feeling, noble poetry, 
deep tragedy, just as there is nobody without 
the elaborate system of nerves and muscles and 
veins with which we are fearfully and wonder- 
fully made. 

The early November dusk was coming on 
before she set out on her pilgrimage again, the 
darkness coming all the earlier for the fog and 
the London smoke, and then, hardly caring which 
way she went, she turned her face eastward, not 
knowing that she was making for the very heart 
of London. The streets were even more 
crowded and confusing than they had been in 


lOO 


LADDIE 


the morning ; and the gas and the lighted shops, 
and the noise, and her own weariness combined 
to increase her bewilderment. 

Once, as she passed round the corner of a 
quieter street, some one ran up against her, and 
nearly threw her down,— a lady, the old woman 
would have described her, smartly, even hand- 
somely, dressed, with a bright color on her 
cheeks, and glowing, restless, unhappy eyes, and 
dry, feverish lips. She spoke a hasty word of 
apology, and then, all at once, gave a sharp, 
sudden cry, and put her hands on the old 
woman’s shoulders and looked eagerly into her 
face. Then she pushed her away with a pain- 
ful little laugh. thought you were my 
mother,” she said. 

^^No; I never had no gals.” 

‘‘You’re in luck, then,” the girl said; “thank 
heaven for it.” 

“Was your mother, maybe, from the coun- 
try!” 

“Yes; she lived in Somersetshire. But I 
don’t even know that she’s alive, and I think she 
must be dead. I hope she is— I hope it!” 

lOI 


LADDIE 


There was something in the girl’s voice that 
told of more bitter despair than words, and the 
old woman put out her hand and laid it on the 
girl ’s velvet sleeve. 

dear,” she said, ‘‘maybe I could help 

you. ’ ’ 

“Help!” was the answer. “I’m past that. 
There, good night! Don’t trouble your kind 
head about me.” 

And then the old woman went on again, get- 
ting into narrow, darker streets, with fewer 
shops, and people of a rougher, poorer class. 
But it would overtax your patience and my 
powers to describe the old woman’s wanderings 
in the maze of London. Enough to say, that 
when, an hour or two later, footsore and ready 
to drop, she stumbled along a little street near 
Soho Square, a woman, with a baby in her arms, 
uttered a loud cry of pleased recognition, and 
darted out to stop her. 

“Why, it ain’t never you! Whoever would 
have thought of seeing you so soon; and how- 
ever did you find me out? This is the house. 
Why, there, there! Dontee cry, sure! dontee, 


102 



Laddie. 


‘“WHY, IT ain’t never YOU !’ ’* 

103 




LADDIE 


now! You^re tired out. Come in and have a 
cup of tea. IVe got the kettle boiling all 
ready, for my Harry ’ll be in soon.” 

It was the young woman she traveled with 
the day before,— only the day before, though it 
seemed months to look back to; only her face 
was bright and happy now, in spite of the fog 
and dirt about her; for had not her Harry a 
home and welcome for her, in spite of all her 
fears and people ’s evil prophecies ; and was not 
this enough to make sunshine through the rain- 
iest day*? 

Very improbable, you will say, perhaps, that 
these two waifs, these floating straws, should 
have drifted together on the great ocean of 
London life. Yes, very improbable, well-nigh 
impossible, I agree, if it is mere chance that 
guides our way; but stranger, more improbable 
things happen every day ; and, if we mean any- 
thing by Providence, it is no longer difficult to 
understand, for we can see the Hand leading, 
guiding, arranging, weaving the tangled, con- 
fused threads of human life into the grand, 
clear, noble pattern of divine purpose. 

105 







K V 




' sT . 


■.r ^ 


V *» « . , 

. -». M v 


’ i *- 

*nf ' ' 



:.C-i ' , ■.- 

pip • V , \ ^ “ 






f 


V i 


r . 


PSNrV' "'V ' ,: T > 32 - 'riP'.r 



^•.*7 

rf /, 

* A" 




• -k 


li 



s • 




• >1 


; m ^- 






9 \ 



, r, * th\ t 'Vj . ■ T 


♦ ♦ . • 


• ,•■ • y-C " o‘ ;•• ■-?^1 .-^ 

X . ’’ V ',# '" i < '‘ A >! f '\ ■' ' v ' , ^ 



aC«> ■ . J-.'f V 




LOVE IS STRONGER THAN 

DEATH 




'■V y 










iV- " ’% ' 




vf ; -v/^ * - '^V 

-■- ^/:^■ ■ ■'". * ' •’■'■>' 


• • 



.'S! 


m 


V ' ■ ' .■^:- 4 s- •- 


.1 


1 • 


^ i r. 

t 

« 












'> ^ Ai ^ 

o 

, I ^'' !>' ■' 




V \ 






^ '•’v^ .V-r 


^ I 




• I 

% 


te 


(>■ 


S > 


••» -4 


* -.* 


fe 

y 


. ;■ f*.'*’ .- ' ■ - 

' snH' 




* xli 

r f.ji 


>f 




5 :. ^ 




I . 


*^l 4^ 


-\J5 


le* 


i. 




•^f 


mt 


; '• 


V., 


I 





’*«( 










4 


!‘^-l 




« . 










-4 ',<• 


54 .-.^ 




■AVt-. ? 

j*- •■ 


<0^' 


> *• 


:tv 


■h 


^ *m 




>>. 


w 


•* ; *V 


•‘•v 


• 4 


r*^\ 




a> • ■ 

KLV^v V. . <> .»w ,. 

'■ . 


- '• 






l\ 


fi*' 


U'* * 


H 


.o,%* 


^’.;V 








r •,7-'’ ^ V 

kCttfr. i. . ** ; 


;•! 




HS ' ‘ > 


4^ 




V- 




\-v 








i-V 


r? -A^ 




•r » 








m 


X 


& 


*< v*( 


1_ f 






!]• 








^.r 






' »* I 


o: 




a 


(W .'•f 


JS .:1 


Qi k. kJsM . » 


. e . 


>t k v 


■•Tu* •'* 


M-? 


M- 


i K 








t r "v fc"f 


. f 


• i 


. f. 




. I 


W *-i *'. t- 


,i‘ 


r t 






< k 




^7* - V^ 


V - 










•r a* 




'J- 






*ii 


f\t 


Vi 




( .V, 




{;»•' Vx' 




Tl' 


fi. 'I 


- 


«Af.: 


1^>? 


IM 


ir-j 


i» .. * 


I » 


.V- 


V -f 




r 


if 




■ vr 


I 

.V 




* _ «-t 




4. 




* ■* 


i t 


’I. > 


L^- 


*♦ . 


All 


Z-. ♦■ 


*: i > 




•f . 




a^- 




r/ 


r^y 


- tv 






|4- - y 


’'Z 


4*i 


>• / 


zx 




0 


•r 


» 


A ' AVU*- 




4f, 






\%^\ 






.•■iV 


S- 

k ' lAk^P I ^ 


\J\<i 






CHAPTER V 


LOVE IS STRONGEK THAN DEATH 

E ighteen months have passed away 
since my story began; and it is no 
longer dull, foggy November, but May, 
beautiful even in London, where the squares and 
parks are green and fresh, and the lilacs and 
laburnums in bloom, and the girls sell lilies-of- 
the-valley and wall flowers in the streets, and 
trucks with double stocks and narcissus ^‘all 
a-growing and a-blowing’’ pass along, leaving 
a sweet, reviving scent behind them. 

The sky is blue, with great soft masses of 
cotton-wool cloud; and the air is balmy and 
pure in spite of the smoke and dirt; and sweet 
spring is making its power felt, even in the very 
midst of London. It is blossoming time in the 
heart as well as in the Kentish apple orchards; 
and the heart cannot help feeling gay and sing- 
ing its happy little song even though its cares, 
109 


LADDIE 


like the poor larks in the Seven Dials’ bird shops, 
ruffling their soft breasts and knocking their 
poor brown heads against their cages in their 
ecstasy of song. 

Dr. Carter had good cause for happiness that 
day, though, indeed, he was moving among sick- 
ness and suffering in a great London hospital. 
He had some lilies in his coat that Violet fas- 
tened there with her own hands ; and as she did 
so he had whispered, ‘^Only another week, 
Violet”; for their wedding day was fixed in the 
next week. And was not that a thought that 
suited well with the lovely May weather, to 
make him carry a glad heart under the lilies'? 
The wedding had been long delayed from one 
cause and another, but principally because the 
search for the old mother had been altogether 
fruitless, in spite of the confidence of the police. 

^‘We will find her first,” Violet would say; 
must find her. Laddie.” She adopted the 
old name quite naturally. ^^And then we will 
talk of the wedding.” 

But the time rolled on, days, weeks, and 
months, till at last it was more than a year ago 


no 


LADDIE 


that she had gone ; and though they never gave 
up the hope of finding her, or their efforts to 
do so, still it no longer seemed to stand between 
them and give a reason for putting off the 
marriage, but rather to draw them nearer to- 
gether, and give a reason for marrying at once. 
But on Dr. Carter’s writing table always stood 
the pair of pattens, much to the surprise of pa- 
tients; but he would not have them moved, and 
in his heart lay the pain of regret, side by side 
with his love and happiness. 

The doctors were making their rounds in the 
hospital, with a crowd of students about them. 
There was a very interesting case in the acci- 
dent ward, over which much time was spent and 
much attention paid. I am not doctor enough 
to describe what the nature of the case was ; and 
if I were, I dare say you would not care to hear ; 
but it was a very interesting case to the doctors 
and nurses ; and that means that life and death 
were fighting over that bed, and science bring- 
ing every re-enforcement in its power in aid of 
the poor, battered fortress that the grim king 
was attacking so severely. 


Ill 


LADDIE 


An easy victory on either one side or the 
other is very uninteresting to lookers-on, 
though of deepest moment to the patient. And 
so the doctors passed on with hardly a word by 
the next two beds, in one of which life was the 
conqueror, hanging out his flags of triumph in 
a tinge of color on the cheeks, brightness in 
the eyes, and vigor in the limbs; in the other, 
death was as plainly to be seen in the still form 
and white, drawn face. 

After the doctors and students had passed by, 
and finished their round, Dr. Carter came back 
alone to No. 20. He had taken a deep interest 
in the case, and had something to say further 
about it to the nurse. He was a great favorite 
with the nurses, from his courteous, gentle man- 
ners; so they were not disposed to regard his 
second visit as a troublesome, fidgety intrusion, 
as they might have done with some. He had 
not been quite pleased with the way in which 
a dresser had placed a bandage, and he altered 
it himself with those strong, tender fingers of 
his, and was just going off better satisfied, when 
he found the flowers had dropped from his coat- 


112 


LADDIE 


If they had not been Violet’s gift it would not 
have mattered ; but he did not like to lose what 
she had given, and he looked for them. They 
had fallen, by some quick movement of his, on 
tlie next bed, where death was having an easy 
victory. 

The old woman’s arms were stretched outside 
the bed clothes, and one of her hands,— hard- 
worked hands, with the veins standing up on 
the backs like cords,— had closed, perhaps in- 
voluntarily, on the flowers, the lilies, and the 
dainty green leaf. 

^^Here they are, sir,” said the nurse; ‘‘they 
must have dropped as you turned round.” 
And she tried to draw them from the woman’s 
hand, but it only closed the tighter. “She 
doesn’t know a bit what she’s about. Leave 
go of the flowers, there’s a good woman,” she 
said, close to her ear; “the gentleman wants 
them. ’ ’ 

But the hand still held them. 

“Well, never mind!” Dr. Carter said, with 
just a shade of vexation; “let her keep them. 

113 


LADDIE 


It does not matter, and you will only break 
them if you try to get them away. ’ ^ 

^ ‘ She ’s not been conscious since they brought 
her in,’’ the nurse said; ‘4t’s a street accident; 
knocked down by an omnibus. We don’t know 
her name, or nothing, and no one’s been to ask 
about her.” 

The doctor still stopped, looking at the lilies 
in the old hand. 

^^She is badly hurt,” he said. 

The nurse explained what the house surgeon 
had said: Another day will see an end of it. 
I thought she would have died this morning 
when I first came on; she was restless then, 
and talked a little. I fancy she’s Scotch, for 
I heard her say, ‘Laddie’ several times.” 

The words seemed to catch the otherwise un- 
conscious ear, for the old woman turned her 
head on the pillow, and said feebly, “Laddie.” 

And then, all at once, the doctor gave a cry 
that startled all the patients in the ward, and 
made many a one lift up her head to see the 
cause of such a cry. 

“Mother!” he cried, “mother, is it you?” 

114 


LADDIE 


Dr. Carter was kneeling by the bed, looking 
eagerly, wildly, at the wan, white face. Was he 
mad? The nurse thought he must be, and this 
sudden frenzy. And then he called again:— 

‘ ^ Mother, mother, speak to me ! ’ ^ 

A childless mother near said afterwards she 
thought such a cry would have called her back 
from the dead, and it almost seemed to do so 
in this case, for the closed lids trembled and 
raised themselves a very little, and the drawn 
mouth moved into the ghost of a smile, and she 
said,— 

‘‘Eh, Laddie, here I be.^’ 

And then the nurse came nearer to reason with 
the madman. 

“There is some mistake,^’ she said; “this is 
quite a poor old woman. ^ ’ 

And then he got up and looked at her, she 
said afterwards, “like my lord duke, as proud 
as anything.’^ 

“Yes,’^ he said, “and she is my mother. I 
will make arrangements at once for her re- 
moval to my house if she can bear it. ’ ^ 

Ah! that was the question, and it wanted 

8— Laddie. 1 1 5 


LADDIE 


little examination or experience to tell that the 
old woman was past moving. The nurse, be- 
wildered and still incredulous, persuaded him 
not to attempt it; and, instead, her bed was 
moved into a small ward off the large one, 
where she could he left alone. ^ 

Love is stronger than death; many waters 
cannot drown it. Yes, but it cannot turn back 
those cold waters of death, when the soul has 
once entered them; and so Dr. Carter found 
that with all his love and with all his skill, he 
could only smooth, and that but a very little, 
the steep, stony road down into Jordan. 

He got a nurse to attend specially upon her, 
but he would not leave her ; and the nurse said it 
was not much good her being there, for he 
smoothed her pillows, and raised her head, and 
damped her lips, and fanned her with untiring 
patience and tenderness. Once when he had 
his arm under her head, raising it, she opened 
her eyes wide and looked at him. 

‘‘Ah, Laddie,’’ she said; “I’m a bit tired 
with my journey. It’s a longish way from 
Sunnybrook. ’ ’ 

ii6 


LADDIE 


^^Did you come from there T’ 

^^Yes, sure; IVe never been such a long way 
before, and I ’m tired out. ^ ’ 

^‘Why didn’t you write!” he asked, presently, 
when she opened her eyes again. 

wanted to give you a surprise,” she said; 
^^and I knew as you’d he glad to see me at 
any time as I liked to come. ’ ’ 

And then it dawned on him that the past 
eighteen months had been blotted clean out of 
her memory, and that she thought she had just 
arrived. Then she dozed, and then again 
spoke: ^^And so this is your house. Laddie? 
And mighty tine it be!” looking round on the 
bare hospital room; ^^and I’m that comfortable 
if I wasn’t so tired, but I’ll be getting up when 
I’m rested a bit. But it do me good to see you 
when I opens my eyes. I’ve been thinking all 
the way how pleased you’d be.” All this she 
said a word or two at a time, and very low and 
weakly, so that only a son’s ear could have 
heard. 

As the evening came on she fell asleep very 
quietly, such a sleep as, if hope had been pos- 
117 


LADDIE 


sible, might have given hope. Dr. Carter left 
the nurse watching her and went away, got a 
hansom and offered the man double fare to take 
him to Harley Street as fast as possible. 
Violet had just come in from a flower show, and 
looked a flower herself, with her sweet face and 
dainty dress. 

‘‘I have found her,’’ Laddie said. ^^Come.” 
And she came without asking a question, only 
knowing from Laddie’s face that there was sor- 
row as well as joy in the finding. 

^^She is dying,” he said, as they went up 
the hospital steps together. ^‘Can you bear 

itr’ 

She only answered by a pressure of her hand 
on his arm, and they went on to the quiet room. 
There was a shaded light burning, and the nurse 
sitting by the bedside. 

‘^She has not stirred, sir, since you left.” 

But even as she spoke, the old woman moved 
and opened her eyes, looking first at Laddie 
and then on Violet. 

‘‘Who is it?” she asked. 

And then Violet knelt down with her sweet 

ii8 


I 



Laddie. 


‘“MOTHER, I AM LADDIE’ S SWEEHEART.’ ” 

1 19 








•s'*‘ f^.' 




. ■•’ , - 


^ A? 

"S 4 . ^ ■■ . 






>w\*? 


^ > 


.«iM 7 


:d-* 




/:i' 



/> 




I 


♦w, 






J:i 






y*. 


0 ‘- 


Ar 






r *?•*<: ^v Ji^iyK 


N.v> 


«l 




»: 


y^TvS. r'^ 


■4, ■' 


■<t-i 


. . 'A^'n 


■ ' -K 

-s"i -'Ll 


'ta. 




. » » • 


' Tf I 


l^^ 




><1 


I • • 

»r 


3 


.S-v. 


*4-*^ > • 




» 




V /.K; *M 


[»• 


,1 


.V 


f- 


^»ri 


• M 


W: 


>(< 




•JT 




•*^1 


•• f 


Ify 


w. 


«« 




tV -> 7 ^ ;C ^'’-’ " ' ’ .'Jr. ^ ■■ ; 

H' ^ , .- , ../r '** -.-f .^.*, 

, , ■. ‘ t ■ r .' t ‘ 


-’ 




/ ' 


-r‘ 






I** 




»>c 


% 


> 4 




#» 




% <^1 


3 ? 




4 4 






ti 
















,V' 


‘f.'v'i 






V^f '1^1 


.1 


"S 




M Lii 


, 1 ^ 


r- ' 4« 


' 4 :< 








k 


y -> JS .‘* 


i*' •’' > 


^1 


'f 




T- 


Hpf. 




/i- • 


■f %*> 




'<JL 








>J 




"i Tr 


~ 


y^/^ 


'■** , -V :-c-.te-.;.^ 


» 


t 








‘•TV 




i-t' •■ 








T^sS'JL’! L- '■ '■ .^^vV.-:' ^ ‘ 


. ro 


« < 




:fr 


ij'' f 






i^' 








I> •. «ij 


*U^J. 




m 


a, 


«V 


4 »\ 






?< .^^v 




uA< 


\ •«. -fc 


.* . 








/ »'* 


i- 


r A 


:>» » » 


‘ * 1 




u 




f 


JV 




•V 




y.s 














^yxj 


*>» /j-'S" . 




^f. 




^r: 








r 4 " 


{?: ♦■ 






p 

:if; 




•i 


MVj’ 








^-V 




f . 


V. «’ 






* A 




-j. -*' ,»rj 


If 








-S'-' »‘- 




f 1>» 














»* .-.A ^ 


y# V 


iH 






!>!ti 


4 J 


V * ,4 




X- y. 


liP 


fv 


CVi 








-w 


.Vr 


I <■ 




il * 




[^1 








»» 


1 ^* fc 


11 


.St, 




<« >' 


%• ' • -' »■- 


’^1^' 


I K 






:ii. 


\ t. 


4 




ws 


l 4 #l_ 




’111 


< i 


r,-M. 








r 


Jk. 




(V 






>• ' ' 




f V'l t 


t-fl< 


.S,^« 


V' II 




1 






er 








A • 






list' 


A. • ^ 






LADDIE 


face close to the old woman ^s, and said very 
softly, ^‘Mother, I am Laddie’s sweetheart.” 

‘‘Laddie’s sweetheart!” she echoed; “he’s 
over-young to he wed— but there! I forgot. 
He’s been a good son, my dear, always good 
to his old mother, and he’ll be a good husband. 
And you’ll make him a good wife, my dear, 
won ’t you I God bless you ! ’ ’ 

And then her trembling hand was feeling for 
something, and Laddie guessed her wish, and 
put his own hand and Violet’s into it; two 
young hands, full of life and health and pulsa- 
tion, under the old, worn, hard-worked hand, 
growing cold and weak with death. 

“God bless you, dears. Laddie and his sweet- 
heart. But I’m a bit tired just now.” 

And then she dozed again, and the two sat by 
in the dim, quiet room, drawn closer together 
and dearer to each other than they ever had 
been before, in the presence of the Great Angel 
of Death who was so near the old mother now. 
And very tenderly he did his work that night ! 
Only a sigh and then a sudden hush, during 
which the listeners’ pulses throbbed in their 


121 


LADDIE 


ears, as they listened for the next long-drawn, 
painful, difficult breath that did not come; and 
then the weary limbs relaxed into the utter re- 
pose and stillness of rest after labor, for the 
night had come when no man can work,— the 
holy, starlit night of death, with the silver 
streaks of the great dawn of the Eesurrection 
shining in the east. 

For a moment they sat spell-bound ; and then 
it was Laddie, he who had so often seen death 
face to face, who gave way, throwing himself 
on the bed with an exceedingly bitter ciy, ‘‘0 
mother, mother, say you forgive me!’’ 

What need for words? Did he not know that 
she forgave him? If, indeed, she knew she had 
anything to forgive. But she was ^‘a hit 
tired. ’ ’ 

Don’t you know when bedtime comes, and the 
nurse calls the children, how sometimes they 
leave their toys, which a few minutes before 
seemed all in all to them, without a look, and 
the cake unfinished, and are carried otf with 
their heads bent down, and their eyes heavy 
with sleep, too tired even to say good-night. 


122 


LADDIE 


or speak a pretty, lisping word of the play-time 
past, or the pleasures coming in the morning? 
And so it is often with us bigger children ; when 
the nurse Death calls us at our bed-time, we are 
^ ‘ a hit tired, ^ ^ and glad to go, too sleepy even for 
thought or farewell. 

They laid her by the old master in Sunny- 
hrook churchyard; and the village folks talked 
long afterwards of the funeral, and how Dr. 
Carter, ^^he as used to be called Laddie,’’ fol- 
lowed her to the grave, along with the pretty 
young lady as he was going to marry ; and, bless 
my heart! wouldn’t the poor old soul have felt 
proud if she could have seen ’em? But she’s 
better where she is, where there ain’t no buryin’ 
and no pride, neither. ’ ’ 


123 














* 




.r* 


l 4 -^ /t 


IHi*. 


•i 


> • 


'•i '‘t '*> 




r‘ 






y.' 




>_■ 






:1^V 




>_ 


U/i 


*’ii 






>-^1 ik 


ai£»! 




V « 


‘yV 


u 


■^; A- ’*'' 

—WJ 

;-5'‘>. /*, 


► V, 


/.c. 


V? 


t 


* * 


1 * 


^.*- '♦ 


' k 




‘<^ ■ »i 


* I 










V 




^1 ; 


^‘5 


r \r < 


I .( 


i^v 






W>J .1 


•^. J 


• «. •• . 




h 




Y. -< 




.<^ 

!r^ 


I': 


e~ 


*• 4 A 








W 


> "S' 

I . I i • " 

^ ' 


* f 




.» _.t • 


i 






♦ ^ 


%‘V 


» % 


»► 


*S • 




ir* wV 


ViA* 


r< ^-— *• 


* •<( 


?K. . 




wEm 


L-i-’ * 


f *»■ 


< I * r ^ 

' 1 J • • 


I I 


'tv 


/V 




VZ' 


l^'^' 


<'>•%; 






i^‘*' I ■ V 

V • , r- 


■ja. 




'<j. 


'2 


■- ‘4<--',» -j' 


!■: 










•y'i^^r 


r 








Aa 




:^y 


' ( 


k5“ 






t I 


A 7 ?r 


zr’>' 


.■^.1 


'iV, 






w 


• V. 




■^4l 


rS 














.' t, 


.*\r/ 




« } V ** 




vV. 


'V 






> 


u< 


AS 


* , ?« V 


vfeO^ 








\ X 


>•4. 






1 ,> 










♦ - ' 




5 


► ^•1 




^ B 












•<.* 


-• '.'i . 


m 


i'r V 




'«; ' 


' V • 


» «,' 


1 


um 


f 1 '• 


i- 


»> 






■'> 0 ! 


. li 




<■ jv 




1*# 3 




>Y.-‘ 


r-ij 


4 . v > >. 




-♦ *. 


'*.'4 ^■•»: s»ii 


I 


»J 


/f- 




'I ^ 




ft- 


•v _ 1 ' 


p%*; 


O* 


.^ * S” 


r'i 


• 


:j> 






iiii 






i'*u:.*L 


* i 




A : 


* I 1 ^" 


^ .• 


f* » 




Af* 

“ r 






L^iy 




7. 


4«V 


% 


W 


'» % 






I* 


. ■ /» -^ - 




•^■4 ♦vV • i*-* 






J.' 




rr 


44 


»’■> 


' 4.- 5** 




- ^ 


» S-* 




;^3v- 


1/ 


ku 






•.V^i's "-2 


W I 




jjr T ^ 'P ’ • 

W «^1 ' * '■■' I - • «„ i .1 

f .ir.. ^\^y,\. . .*r^ A# -' -JIL,. 

>- w:\ -i ■ •' ■ >? - ^ 


t> 


r !'»• 




• / 




t\ ' I t 










:W 


> *.* • i 




> *i Y 


ii ' Of 






\K 1 


ALTEMUS’ GOOD TIMES SERIES 

Handsomely printed, profusely illustrated and attractively bound. 

Cloth, Illuminated covers {5% x 7% inches) 50 cents each. 

UNDER THE STARS 

By Florence Morse Kingsley 

Four beautiful stories from the life of Jesus. 

A Watch in the Night. The Only Son of His Mother. 

The Child in Jerusalem. The Children’s Bread. 

THE STORY OF THE ROBINS 

By Sarah Trimmer 

"The Story of the Robins” was first published in England under the 
title of " Fabulous Histories,” In 1785, and acquired instant popularity. 
It has been issued in all sizes and styles ; it has received nothing but 
praise from the greatest of critics ; and it has been Illustrated by the best 
artists. It compares favorably with modern works which teach kindness to 
animals. 


JACKANAPES 

By Juliana H. Ewing 

In the story of "jackanapes,” the Captain’s child, with his clear blue 
eyes and mop of yellow curls, is the one Important figure. The doting 
aunt, the faithful Tony, the irascible General, the postman, the boy- 
tnunpeter, the silent Major, and the ever-dear Lollo, are there, it is true, 
but they group around the hero in subordinate positions. In all they say 
and do and feel they conspire to reflect the glory and beauty of the noble, 
generous, tender-spirited “Jackanapes.” 

THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING 

By Elizabeth Wetherell 

This story of the Christmas Stocking has helped to make many children 
happy, for without it many fathers and mothers would have never thought 
of making arrangements for the visit of Santa Claus, who never comes 
where he is not maoe welcome. The things little Carl found in his stocking 
told him stories which should help us into the habit of remembering those 
who have not all the good things we possess. 

LADDIE 

By the Author of “ Miss Toosey’s Mission ” 

A charming story that has been popular for many years, and deservedly so. 

MAKING A START 

By Tudor Jenks. 

A story of a bright boy who did not wait for "something to turn up,” 
but exercised his talent for drawing until he secured a good position on a 
great daily newspaper. A book for boys who are learning that “ the secret 
of success is constancy to purpose.” 


HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY^ PHILADELPHIA 


125 



ALTEMUS’ GOOD TIMES SERIES 

Handsomely printed, profusely Illustrated and attractively bound. 

Cloth, illxominated covers (5/4 x 7% inches) 50 cents each. 

THE STORY OF A DONKEY 

/ 

By Mme. La Comtesse de Segur. 

In this book the donkey tells the story of his life and adventure, be- 
cause, as he says, “l want you to treat all cf us donkeys kindly, and to 
remember that we are often much more sensible than some human beings.” 
The story has always been exceedingly popular and has delighted thousands 
of readers. 

MISS TOOSEY’S MISSION 

By the Author of “ Laddie.” 

A delightful and wholesome story that has had a wide circulation and still 
holds its popularity. 

A BLUE GRASS BEAUTY 

By Gabrielle E. Jackson. 

Never did Kentucky turn out a handsomer creature than the Blue Grass 
Beauty who twice carried off the Blue Ribbon at New York’s great annual 
horse show. With the story of his life is woven that of some very nice 
people, and all is set forth in Mrs. Jackson’s inimitable manner. It is far too 
good a book to mislay. 

~THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE 

By Juliana H. Ewing. 

In “The Story of a Short Life,” Mrs. Ewing again sings the praises of 
military life and courtesies. Many people admire Leonard’s story as 
much as “jackanapes,” possibly because the circumscances of the former’s 
life are much more within the range of common experiences than those of the 
latter. It is a simple, exquisitely tender little story. 

JESSICA’S FIRST PRAYER 

By Hesba Stretton. 

A beautiful and pathetic story which appeals to all children, and to older 
readers as well. 

THE ADVENTURES OF BARON 
MUNCHAUSEN 

By Rudolph Erich Raspe. 

In 1737 Baron Munchausen served in Russian campaigns against the 
Turks, and after his return acquired great notoriety by his exaggerated 
stories of adventure. These stories are so outrageous, and Munchausen 
asserts so strongly that they are all strictly true, that his name has become 
proverbial as a synonym for extravagant boasting. 


HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 


126 


GEORGE WASHINGTON JONES 

A Christmas Gift that went-a-begging. 

By Ruth McEnery Stuart, 

Author of “ Napoleon Jackson,” etc. 

George Washington Jones, “ ten years old, little, black, sensitive,” tries to 
give himself away to some lovely young lady who would make him her page, 
as in the days “befo’ the wah.” Even without the magic of the author’s 
name in the writing world, the story will survive as one of the best and 
prettiest ever written. 

Cloth, ornamental, illustrated - - - - $i.oo 


LITTLE MISS JOY-SING 

How she became the Beautiful Pine Tree in the Garden 
of Prince of Don’t Care What. 

By John Luther Long. 

PICTURES BY ZAIDA BEN-YUSDF. 

Little Miss Joy-Sing, with a poppy behind her ear, is a child of the sunshine. 
She slept and she woke and she wished ; and there is a beautiful prince, and 
a fox that can talk — but the book is too clever to be cut up in pieces for 
inspection. Mr. Long stands inside the circle of the mighty and always 
has large audiences. 

Cloth, ornamental |o-75 


HALF-A-DOZEN HOUSEKEEPERS 

A Story for Girls in half-a-dozen chapters. 

By Kate Douglas Wiggin. 

PICTURES BY MILLS THOMPSON. 

The charm of fhis book is the insight the author gives us Into the natural life 
of natural people. Every girl who reads it will put the volume in her collec- 
tion of permanent acquisitions. It is deliciously fresh and amusing. 

Cloth, ornamental |o-75 


THE STORY OF THE GOLDEN 

FLEECE 

By Andrew Lang. 

PICTURES BY MILLS THOMPSON. 

It happened long ago, this adventure of the Golden Fleece, but the fame 
of the heroes who sailed away to a distant lard to win themselves renown 
forever has lived, having been told many times in story and song. Yet 
who could tell it like Mr. Lang, with his poet’s passion for beauty, his 
artist’s eye for color and detail ? 

Cloth, ornamental $ 0.75 


HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 


127 



GALOPOFF. THE TALKING PONY 

By TUDOR JBNKS, 

Author of “ Imaginotiona,” ” The Century World's Fair Book," “ The Boys' Book of Ex- 
ploration," etc., etc. Pictures by Howard R. Cort. 

A Story for young folks, told in the captivating style that has made 
Mr. Tenks’ name a household word wherever there are English-speak- 
ing boys and girls. The book is delightful reading ; as enjoyable as 
‘‘ Black Beauty,” or "Alice in Wonderland.” 

\2mo, cloth, $1.00 


CAPS AND CAPERS 

By OABRIELLB B. JACKSON, 

Author of “ Pretty Polly Perkins," “ Denise and Ned Toodles," “ By Love's Sweet Rule," 

etc., etc. Pictures by C. M. Relyea. 

A story of boarding-school life, far above the average of such stories. 
Toinette Reeve, who has scarcely known the influence of a happy 
home or tender mother’s love, is taken from a school where the posses- 
sion of money atones for shortcomings in character, and is placed with 
sensible, loving instructors who are not one whit behind their charges 
in the spirit of good fellowship. 

12mo, cloth, $1.00 


THE LITTLE LADY— HER BOOK 

By ALBBRT BIQBLOW PAINB. 

Author of '* The Hollow Tree," " The Deep Woods," “ The Arkansaw Bear,'" etc., etc. 
Pictures by Mabel L. Humphrey, Louise L. Heustis and others. 

The lyittle Eady, who lives with the Big Man and the Eittle Woman 
in the House of Many Windows, is a dainty little girl to whom the Big 
Man tells stories and sings songs; just such stories and songs as chil- 
dren love. Then there are walks and excursions and many adventures, 
which the Eittle Woman shares with them. 

12mo, cloth. $1.00 


TOMMY FOSTER’S ADVENTURES 

By PRBD A. OBBR, 

Author of ** The Silver City," " Montezuma’s Gold Mines,” *' Crusoe's Island,” '* The 
Knockabout Club Books," etc., etc. Pictures by Stanley M. Arthur. 

It is worth while for boys to read such a book as this, and girls, too, 
for that matter. Tommy is a sturdy American boy who has a glorious 
time in the Southwest among the Navajo, Zuni, Moqui and Pueblo 
Indians. Boylike, he gets into a "scrape,” but a young Indian becomes 
his friend and later shares his adventures. The author has lived 
among the scenes he describes ; and there is plenty of fun and incident. 

12mo, cloth, 240 pa^es $1.00 

FOLLY IN FAIRYLAND 

By CAROLYN WBLLS, 

Author of" Story of Betty," “ Idle Idyls," “ The Merry Go Round," "At the Sign of the 
Sphinx," etc., etc. Handsomely Illustrated, 

A remarkable book for boys and girls, fully as fascinating as the 
other justly popular books of this author. 

12mo, cloth, . $1.00 


Henry Altemus Company, Philadelphia 


128 


FOR PREY AND SPOILS; OR 
THE BOY BUCCANEER 

By FRED A. OBER 

This Story of what befell a sturdy lad under the Jolly Roger” is the kind of 
reading that boys delight in, for what boy does not revel in a “ Pirate Book.” 
No one can write so well of the ” Brethren of the Sea ” as Mr. Ober. 

Cloth, Illustrated $1.00 


DOUGHNUTS AND DIPLOMAS 

By QABRIELLE E. JACKSON 

Mrs. Jackson is known as a writer of delightful stories for girls and this is 
one of her best. She may well be proud of the heroine she has evolved, for the 
energetic and lovable Frances is certainly an out-of-the-common young person, 
and her activities are vastly entertaining. 

Cloth, Illustrated $1.00 


GYPSY, THE TALKING DOG 

By TUDOR JENKS 

It is fortunate that Gypsy, on his way to America, met Galopoff, the Talking 
Pony, as otherwise another of Mr. Jenks' charming books for young readers 
might never have been written. It is well to read all that Mr. Jenks tells us 
about animals that talk. 

Cloth, Illustrated $1.00 


FOLLY IN THE FOREST 

By CAROLYN WELLS 

It certainly requires mental adroitness to evolve a " Forest of the Past ” and 
people it with the creatures of Mythology, History and Literature, but when 
the perennially interesting “Folly” is introduced, the whole becomes little 
short of inspiration. No child can resist the charm of this book. 

Cloth, Illustrated $1.00 


POLLY PERKINS’ ADVENTURES 

By E. LOUISE LIDDELL 

Nothing could be more delightful than the rare, bright fun of these chapters. 
It is a story to make a child’s face wreathe itself in smiles. 

Cloth, Illustrated $1.00 


RATAPLAN, A ROGUE ELE- 
PHANT. AND OTHER STORIES 

By ELLEN VELVIN, F. Z. S. 

Books that help us to a more intimate acquaintance with the habits, traits 
and characteristics of animals are very welcome. The latest addition to this 
literature is a volume of spirited and well-told stories from the pen of Ellen 
Velvin, a writer of many successful books tor children, magazinist of ac- 
knowledged ability, and a Fellow of the Zoological Society (London). 

Illustrations in Color Cloth, $1.25 net 

Postage, 13 Cents Additional 


Henry Altemus Company, Philadelphia 


129 


Little Lady— Her Book 

By ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE 

It has been described as Whole Year of Happiness Y 


“ A daintier bit of child literature has never been written than the exquisite 
story Albert Bigelow Paine has given to the child-world in ‘ The Little Lady - 
H er Book.’ Every sentence bears the imprint of the artist in prose.” — I'he 
Household Reai»i, Chicago, 111. 

“ A volume of exquisitely conceived stories which will delight any child.” — 
Midland Christian Advocate, Minneapolis, Minn. 

A child’s book which is thoroughly natural, and written from the child’s 
standpoint; a real treasure-trove in this kind of literature.” — Waterbury 
American. 

“ There is a literary quality in this book that is not common among those of 
this class; more’s the pity.”— 714^ Christian Register ,^o%X.o\s, ^ 2 .%%. 

Daintiness may be said to furnish the hall-mark of this little story among 
recent juveniles.” — The Outlook, New York, N. Y. 

“ We would rather be the author of this book than of any metaphysical 
work that has been produced within the last quarter of a century. To be able 
to write with such consummate skill for the young folks is one of the rarest and 
most enviable talents.” — Rost, Denver, Col. 

'' It abounds in the love and the unconscious humor and pathos of the real 
child.” — The Press, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Just the dearest book that can be imagined. Mr. Paine is the Prince of 
Story-tellers for little folks.” — Epivorth Herald, Chicago, 111. 

** Mr. Paine tells with quaint and original touches a series of such stories as 
young children delight in.” — LittelPs Living Age, Boston, Mass. 

" A child’s story for every fireside, appropriately dedicated to little ladies 
and gentlemen everywhere.” — Times, Minneapolis, Minn. 

A very happy story of the year’s life and enjoyment of a bright, fearless 
little girl.” — Tribune, Salt Lake City, Utah. 


i2ino, cloth. Ornamental 

$1.00 

^7 Illustrations 

Henry Altemus Company, 

Philadelphia 


130 


OCT 1C 




